your hands inside my dreams [closed]

[redweb]

Who: Natasha Romanoff (redweb) & Bucky Barnes (deadthenred)
What: Nightmares
Where: Olympia
Warning(s): Will update if needed, probably dumb feelings

[Natasha's dreams aren't always peaceful.

Generally this isn't much of a problem, because usually she's alone with the shadows that twist in her subconscious when they rise into nightmares. But now she isn't. It wasn't exactly something she'd given much thought to, honestly-- it's less of a concern with James, since they both have their demons. But it's been a long time since they've been in this sort of space, since the ability to reach out and pull back the dark was something easy.

Maybe she should have expected it, honestly. There's a lot she hasn't really processed, if she were to be honest. Recluse, the sheer fact of this place, the idea of losing her world after fighting for it for so long. Then there's the memories that seeing him again, starting to work through the things between them, has stirred loose.

In sleep, her breath hitches, spiking faster, and she twists against the sheets that slide against her hips. Shifting, unsettled, her fingers clutching at the fabric too tight. There's a shiver in her shoulders, muscles that twitch like a pantomime of the struggles that dance behind her eyes. Her eyes closed tight, and she doesn't cry out, doesn't give voice to the dark, just a gasp like she's trying to catch her breath, like she's drowning.]

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[deadthenred]

[ Bucky can't sleep.

He hasn't been able to for years, really. There are too many thoughts running through his mind, deep and dark, like a river through a canyon. It used to be that he'd tire himself out so thoroughly that he could suffocate the whispers, and just pass out cold after a hot shower. But here there were fewer bad guys, fewer missions. He can't sleep.

So he decides to take a walk. It's a clear night, and the season is only starting to turn. Bucky doesn't think he needs a jacket, but he does quickly throw on a shirt. He's careful, getting up, not to wake Natasha. (She used to help take his mind off things, on nights like this.)

He's already near her door when he hears the gasp, like she's choking, having trouble breathing. He doesn't think, just throws the door open— he's lucky he doesn't break it, really. There's too much weird hocus pocus in this place, and in his life in general, for him to trust the benign explanation.

But no, when he opens the door, she's alone, twisted in the sheets. Instantly, he regrets barging in. He wavers a moment, unsure what to say. ]

Natasha.

[ He says it soft, not sharp. Not loud enough to wake a sound sleeper, but maybe enough to wake the restless. ]

[redweb]

[Once she pulled herself out of the shadows of dreams and memories, Natasha would have been less than amused if Bucky had broken the door. As it is, it's the way he says her name that gives her a thread to hold on to, to pull her way free from the nightmares.

There's a low sound as she twists in the sheets, and then she jerks forward, with a gasp. Eyelashes fluttering, red hair half falling across her face. There's a long moment when there's something sharp and almost defensive in her posture, the way her hands come up like she thinks she's still fighting against something. Something a little bit frantic as she untangles her legs from the sheets, ending up kicking them off just to get them off of her.

Blue eyes shifting to look at him across the distance, and it doesn't take her long to put together the pieces. The way he stands near the open door, the look on his face.]

James.

[Her voice is quiet, strained. There's no I'm fine or it was nothing, just the still air. Instead she drags a hand through her hair, pushing the strands back from her face. She takes one breath, and then another, and starts to steady a little, come back to herself.]

[deadthenred]

[ For the record, he didn't break the door.

But that isn't what he's thinking about, watching her twist in her sleep. He suddenly feels the weight of his intrusion settle on him, and is very conscious that this is not his room, and not his place.

But— ]

It was a dream. [ He says as she stirs. Not "only" or "just" a dream. ] It'll pass.

[redweb]

[She'll appreciate that later.

For now she just- appreciates that he's here, even as she's aware that he's in her space. On the heels of the nightmares, fraught imaginings crossed with memories twisted and warped, blood on her hands, it's a comfort to have him here. It's not an easy thing, not something where she can just cross to him, and put her head on his shoulder and let herself breathe--

The space between them isn't that easy yet. But she's glad for his presence, that she's not alone, heading for the kitchen and a mug of tea that offers no peace.]

A dream. [She echoes the words with a sharp exhale. Her breath still feels tight in her chest, and her blue eyes look up, focusing on him across the distance. It takes a moment, in the aftermath, putting words together when she's still rattling in her own head.]

You don't have to stand by the door.

[It's an invitation. But also something like a request.]

[deadthenred]

I can leave, if you want.

[ And in fact he almost does, backing up a step, but then he sees the look on her face, and he knows he's misunderstood. ]

But I won't.

[ And he comes up toward the end of her bed, his own eyes lowered, still hesitant, now that she's close enough to touch. ]

[redweb]

[She wouldn't have stopped him if he left. She feels too exposed, too raw for closing that much distance, but there's a flicker of relief in her eyes when he doesn't.

Natasha's breath comes a little easier as he approaches her bed, and there's a slight tilt of her head, the way she curls her legs in- making space for him. He's close now, and it makes it easier to bridge the space between them.]

Come on.

[Sit. Stay. Those are the words she means, even if they're not what she says. She could use the proximity, the comfort of it, of someone she trusts, even with the echo of dreams.]

[deadthenred]

[ And so he moves closer, sits on the edge of the bed, still hesitant. But not because he's unsure of what she means, the things she doesn't say. ]

It'll pass. You're bigger than them.

[ Bigger than bad dreams, and scarier too. He reaches for her hand with his right arm, the one that isn't cold. ]

[redweb]

[She breathes at the words. It's a small reassurance, really, but having someone else tell her that this will pass at least makes breathing come a little easier. He reaches for her, and she meets his fingers with her own.

The night is quiet and cool and this space between them is still fraught, neither comfortable nor easy. Something they're having to learn again, and the lines are murkier in the wake of nightmares, when her heartbeat is still a little uneven. It's certainly not the way her hand fits against his; how it feels familiar. The way that his hand is worn, how his touch is warm.

Losing everything hasn't been easy for her, if she's honest. Not that she really wants to talk about it. But the contact is... nice. It feels like an anchor, when the shadows still linger at the edges.]

I try to be, at least.

[deadthenred]

[ If he were an X-Man, the kind who can see into other people's thoughts, he would tell her that she hasn't lost everything.

But he's not. He's ordinary, when you get down to it, at least, that's what he's always thought. When his thoughts have belonged to him, anyway. ]

C'mon. [ It's almost a whisper, pitched to the time of night. ] You're a legend.

[ He doesn't let go. ]

[redweb]

[He gets a ghost of a smile out of her at that, the way the words whisper in the dark. Maybe she is to him. But that's enough, really. The weight behind her name could be useful, but it was never something that she'd needed. And most people didn't understand how heavy it could be.]

Will you stay for a while?

[She asks the question with her voice hushed, the same as his. They could get up, make coffee in the kitchen, breathe. And that would be nice too, but there's something about this, this moment. The dark and the quiet and her hand in his. There's an old familiarity to it, but they're weaving it into something new.

And her ghosts slowly fade back into memory. Into things that can't touch her.]

[deadthenred]

As long as you need me.

[ But has she ever really needed him? He doesn't know. It seems doubtful. ]

As long as you want me. [ He stays, still and heavy, like an unanswered prayer. ] I never sleep, anyway.

[redweb]

[There's definite charm to the words, and comfort. The sort that doesn't put a smile on her face, but makes her feel a little warmer despite the chill the dreams leave behind.

And if Natasha doesn't need James, it's only because she's taught herself how to survive without anyone, without pieces of herself. But recently, she's been allowing herself to relearn the things she'd almost forgotten. That sometimes she's better with other people. With those she can trust.

So she shifts a little closer, lean her shoulder against him.]

Good.

[It's a whisper in the dark, dry and low. She wont ask him what keeps him awake at night, not when there are too many answers, and he'd done her the favor of not asking about her nightmares. But maybe if they both stay here in the dark they can find some peace for a while.]

Sounds like you need to relax.

[deadthenred]

Nah, Nat. I'm a regular yogi. I'm— what're they saying— "blissed out."

[ And while he doesn't expect her to believe it, or want her to, really, with words so transparently unfitting, Bucky does think he's doing fine. The sleep he never gets doesn't bother him, the uneasy dreams almost a comfort in their familiarity.

So, he thinks he's doing fine. Better than you'd expect, even.

But then, he's been alone for a long time. ]

[redweb]

[She can't help the touch of a laugh, almost involuntary at the words that he says. She doesn't buy them, of course, but she's sure that he didn't really mean for her to. They're over the top, almost absurd on his lips of all people.]

James, you are a lot of things, but blissed out is not a term I'd use.

[The warmth to her sigh and the look in her eyes says that she doesn't really mind. He seems okay, and she knows sometimes that's what you have to work with. Not that he couldn't stand to relax a little, maybe get a little more sleep. But she knows that struggle well. And even if things between them are still confusing, she's glad to have him here.

There's a slight nudge of her shoulder against him, a faint murmur on her lips.]

But if you're going to stay, we might as well get comfortable. [She does not intend to spent the hours until dawn sitting on the edge of her bed, thanks.]