There are so many myths about sleep. Some people claim that they need very little sleep … four or five hours a night. So they rise early, or stay up until the wee hours. Some people claim they never dream; others claim that they can remember every dream in detail.
Melinda May fostered no myths about sleep, only truths. In truth, she found sleep to be an unreliable companion. She was frequently up before the sun. She knew that the others believed rising early reflected the discipline she brought to her work as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. And it did, at least in part. She moved through her tai chi practice with precision and focus. It allowed her to push aside the faces and voices that threatened to intrude on her waking mind. It taught her the discipline to push them to the margins and focus on the task at hand—whether it was flying, backing up a fellow agent, or taking point on a mission. Her skill—her dedication—depended on it.
May also fostered no myths about dreams. She knew that those hours when she relinquished her conscious mind to sleep was the time when she was most vulnerable—more vulnerable in fact than in any form of combat. At least then she could defend herself; she could identify the threat … engage it … neutralize it. Once she closed her eyes, once she surrendered to the needs of her body, she was exposed. Once she allowed her unconscious mind its due, she was no longer in control. It was then that the faces would appear to her; it was then that the voices would ring in her ears. Sometimes they were so vivid it was as if it was happening in her waking life. Other times, they were surreal, distorted, or abstract, but no less disturbing.
Sometimes she thought it best to induce the kind of sleep that would blot out whatever her unconscious mind summoned … to try at least.
She felt a long, muscular leg drape itself over hers; then a strong arm encircled her waist.
"Bad dream?" was all he said.
"Yeah—I guess I dozed off. Sorry—did I wake you?"
"Yeah, but that's okay. It could be my turn tomorrow—I have my share of them."
"Really?" A sad half-laugh punctuated her reply, but she did not ask more.
"Yep—me too." He moved toward her slightly, closing the remaining space between them; their bodies now fully against one another, secured by his embrace. "It's still early. Why don't you try to go back to sleep?" he said in a sleep-tinged whisper, knowing exhaustion would ward off his demons for another hour or two.
"Maybe," she said as she closed her eyes, but struggled to keep sleep at bay, never knowing where it might lead her.