Late May, 2015
It was like a shot, that small whimper in the dark. In a normal circumstance, it might not have even been detected by the second sleeping body in the bed. However, when the second sleeping body was that of a super-soldier, with the training to be roused at a moment's notice for the tiniest aberration of sound and with advanced hearing to boot, it was not missed. Wide blue eyes blinked in the inky blackness of the room, adjusting to the shadows little by little. Ears were poised to catch the barest noise, and in a few seconds the vigilance was rewarded, though it could hardly be termed as such. Another whimper, followed by a gasp to the left.
It was Holly.
Rolling over carefully, Steve could make out the form of his fiancee, her body curled in on itself, her shoulders tensed and jerking at odd intervals. The leftover mist of sleep were banished from his mind when she shuddered, hard enough to cause a slight tremor to ripple across the mattress. Snapping on his bedside lamp, the splotches of light danced across his vision as he sat up, moved closer to her. Looking down, her profile was scrunched, mouth in a tight grimace, sweat on her brow and the fading red of the scar above her eyebrow more pronounced as harsh lines cut across the skin. Fingers curled and loosened atop the comforter. In sleep, she had shuffled all the way towards the edge of the bed, dangerously close to sliding off onto the floor.
A sinking feeling pierced Steve's gut as he watched her struggle. Ever since Ultron's creation and ultimate demise, Holly had not been sleeping well. Granted, there were a lot of other factors contributing to her lack of rest: losing her old job, planning a wedding to take place at the end of the next month, being forced to pack up her apartment and leave her home of five years, running around and actively working with Maria to sway major corporations into supporting the team's endeavors...
'Watching you almost bite the bullet, and being sweet-talked into that position in the first place,' his brain kicked back at him. Violently, he shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the thought. The point of the matter was, she had been under a good portion of strain for the better part of three weeks, none of which would let up anytime soon, as it seemed. It wouldn't even allow her the escape into dreams, and it made his stomach contract all the more. It wasn't often that she had nightmares; sure, she'd accidentally smacked him in the arm while she dozed once or twice, but it had never progressed beyond that point. Not to the point of trying to make herself a smaller target, her limbs twisting and her body desperately trying to get away. Steve knew how bad his nightmares were, knew that it was better for him to ride them out until he could wake and take care of himself, but now that he was on the other side of the fence, he had no idea if that would be the right thing to do for her. The fear was real, and he hated to think that she was afraid of something inside her own mind. Afraid of something he could not protect her from.
His hand was forced, however, when another gasp floated out and she shifted instinctively sideways.
"Holly!" he cried impulsively, his arm automatically flying out and curling around her waist. He barely caught her in time, her legs falling off the side of the bed while he pinned her torso to his. The shock of both the shout and her feet grazing the carpet jerked her awake, a breathy little scream ripping out of her throat. Her arms shot out, one hand snatching at the top sheet and the other clawing at his wrist. Nails embedded into his skin as she tried to shake him off, fight for her bearings, and the sudden pain was intense.
"Jesus!" he growled, but he maintained his grip, holding onto her tightly. Bending his head closer to her ear, he attempted to keep his tone gentle. "Hey, hey, it's just me."
Her writhing and shaking stilled as the words penetrated her mind, through the leftover cobwebs.
"Steve..." she breathed. The hand on his arm relaxed, crescent shapes left in the skin from her nails. Her head fell back slightly, nearly smacking into his as she inhaled sharply. "Holy shit."
Nodding once, he brought his other arm around her, pulling her back from the edge. "I've got you, sweetheart, I've got you."
Shifting under the sheets, he shuffled them both towards the center of the bed, letting go of her once she was safe and secure next to him. Bodily, anyway. She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and pressing her face into them, into the comforter swathing them.
"Bad dream?" he asked, the question more rhetorical than anything else. He'd had his answer long before she spoke. Still, she did say something, eventually.
Holly snorted, fingers shaking as she combed through her hair and grumbled, "It was the worst good dream I've ever had, if it wasn't."
Wryness tugged at the corner of Steve's mouth, but it fell away as quiet reigned. It was clear how troubled the dream had made his fiancee; the rigid lines on her forehead had barely fallen, and her entire body was still tense. Perhaps he could get her some water, or something.
"You need anything?" he wondered, turning back the bedclothes in preparation to get her whatever she wanted. Mutely, she shook her head, teeth worrying her bottom lip. He dipped his chin, staying put and resettling the sheets again. Scratching the back of his neck, he contemplated another idea, inwardly debating for a few moments before speaking again. "You want to tell me what it was about? If you don't, then you don't have to. Just..."
A hand cupped in the air, his offer left to hang between them for a few moments. He wanted to help her, needed to help her. But how could he, when she sat there, quaking and quiet? Her dark gaze met his for some time, trailing over his face and body as if memorizing every detail, as if she were reminding herself of something. Hesitantly, she extended her hand towards him, pads brushing along the curve of his jaw before running down his neck to his shoulder. Goosebumps erupted along the exposed skin, the clamminess of her palm met with the dryness of his shirt. He still accepted her touch, letting it run down his arm until her fingers came to his, threading them together loosely.
Exhaling, she shrugged her shoulders back, and started to speak.
It was turmoil, from the start. Holly had dreamed she was in the Tower, just after Ultron and his sentries had ransacked it. Stepping through the robotics bay onto the main floor, she had discovered that she as alone, dodging sparking wires and picking her way over sheets of broken glass. Everything was broken, from furniture to steps on the staircase, and it was oddly...quiet. The silence was deafening, oppressive, her voice lost as she tried to scream, call out for help. Anything to affirm she wasn't alone. When she'd heard a noise, a shout, she turned towards a hole that had been punched through one of the windows. At once, she maneuvered towards it. Ducking to avoid the shards, a burst of daylight had blinded her briefly. Instead of setting foot on a steel girder, her boot hit dirt and stone.
It was Novi Grad, risen high and threatening to fall at any moment. Panic had set in, particularly as she'd heard the noise again, and yet she was trapped in a barren, broken city. Holly had started to run, narrowly avoiding bent overhangs and tripping past vehicles that were stalled or on fire. The noise kept beckoning her, but she had no idea where it was coming from or which direction to head. On top of that, she felt as though she were being watched, followed as she went. Something was behind her, darting out the corner of her eye every time she looked back to see what it was. Careening around a corner, she happened upon the marketplace, sliding over the broken cobblestones and barely avoiding the exposed rebar jutting out of the ground. Smoke choked her, but before she could do more than cough, she was immobile, rooted to the spot.
The quinjet was in the air, a glint of silver in the cockpit telling her exactly whom the pilot was. A cracking cut through the air, followed by a spurt of fire, and she realized what she'd been hearing that whole time: gunfire. Tracing its line of fire, Holly sucked in another deep breath, unable to shout for the people in the way to run. Clint was hit first, followed by Pietro. They had barely hit the ground before Tony zoomed in, the leaden curtain of shots piercing him and grounding him as well. Natasha and Bruce absorbed the following rounds, the hulking mass of the doctor shrinking in on itself and the Black Widow's body landing atop his, both unmoving. It was like a river of blood had risen, coating over them all. A roar came from the right, indicative of Thor succumbing to the hailstorm And when the streak of navy, white, and red shot out...
Red-rimmed eyes latched onto him then, and Steve froze, holding his breath as Holly struggled to get hers under control.
"And, and...you didn't get the shield up in time. You, you just—"
She couldn't say it, couldn't even think it. The memory what she had seen in the nightmare was still too fresh, and she could recall it almost perfectly. The spray of bullets, the shield flying out of his grasp, the horror and shock in his eyes as he collapsed. Her scream of despair finally escaping her...Her eyes slammed shut, and she bit her lip for a few seconds to stop herself from crying, to stop herself from sinking back into it.
There was not much to tell after that, she'd mumbled. Once Steve, and all the other Avengers had been laid to waste, the jet made a pass, turning to come at her next. Unfortunately, or fortunately, that was when the ground fell out from under her, the city plummeting back to the earth and her going with it. Before impact had been made, her feet had hit the floor, and she was awake. A shuddering breath racked her, her face burying itself into her knees again. Steve's hand smoothed over her back, sliding up and down, its warmth bleeding through the material of her tank top. A renegade tear or two seeped out, but she turned her head away from him, dashed them from her face as quickly as they had fallen. Steve, having endured her entire tale in silence, scooted closer to her, pulling her into his embrace. He turned her so that her legs could crook over his lap, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder as he held her. A shaky gasp, and then she slung her arms around him, sniffles coming out as her face went into the join of his neck. Wetness dripped down his skin, soaking into the collar of his tee. Immediately, he held her tighter, beginning to rock slightly as her silent tears morphed into muffled sobs.
"Shh, shh," he murmured, his heart aching in his chest as he did his best to soothe her. His palm stroked her hair slowly, his cheek laid along the side of her head. There was no pat assurance that he could give her, no definite word that the dreams would pass and all would be well again soon. Granted, she had not been involved majorly in all the events, but she had been involved enough. She had suffered through a form of trauma, having witnessed Ultron's commandeering of the quinjet herself, having been able to do nothing but watch as he and the others were fired upon. Let alone his first attack, where she'd been menaced as well as them. He had gotten his shield up, though, and he had tucked and rolled himself to hide, as did Thor (who had been right beside him). Clint hadn't fallen, nor did Pietro or the little boy they both were protecting. Sam had done his duty, distracting the automaton, and Bucky had gotten his shot. They were all still alive.
He could assure her of that much, at least. So he held her, cradled her against him as he told her, over and over, that it was alright, that he was still there with her and loved her. The erratic sobs began to peter off, the tearstains on his shirt not being added to. Sniffing hard, Holly brought her head up, eyes closing as Steve pressed a kiss to her hairline.
"You want to know the dumbest part?" She sniffed, wiping her eyes and huffing under her breath. "I knew agreeing to go out as Maria asked would give me nightmares. I knew it, and did it, anyway. How stupid is that?"
"Not at all," he countered her sentiment. A finger traced indiscernible patterns over her knee, and he attempted a smirk. "Understanding that there are consequences to your actions is a sign of intelligence."
Her eyes rolled at that, but a streak of humor passed over her face. "Comforting."
That earned an outright grin, though it faded after a couple of seconds. Mired in the heavy silence, in the spoken truth between them, they were lost to their own thoughts. Steve bit the inside of his lip, considering everything. Holly's worry, stress, and minor paranoia (not that he would ever term it as such to her face) had conjured up a form of hell in her mind, robbing her of the safety security of her own mind. It was something he was all too familiar with, and it hurt his heart to see it happening to her, too. It shouldn't have happened, not to her.
"It wasn't your fault," he asserted aloud, sighing and leaning back into the headboard. "None of it."
He missed the furrow of Holly's brow, but he could hear it in her tone when she answered his proclamation.
"Wasn't yours, either."
Steve snorted at that, a wave of self-deprecation and loathing coasting through him. "I think that's debatable."
"I don't," she said flatly, stamping down on his urge to self-flagellate. The overall situation with Ultron, the battle in Sokovia and her subconscious choosing to feed on her stress and expound it was not to be laid at either of their doors. How she acted, and reacted, were up to her. Her fiance's responsibilities concerned other things. If he insisted she not take the blame, then she would make sure he did not, either. Though her dreams preyed upon one of her deepest, worst fears, she hadn't told Steve so that he would feel guilt and shame for it. She'd told him so that she could keep her sanity, to understand that what had happened in her mind had not come to fruition. That even though she had seen horrible and frightening things, they were not the entirety of her reality. Being with Steve meant that there would be a lot of bad that came with the good. It was the good, though, that she was fighting to remember, to push the bad to the bottom. She would not allow it to consume her, even as she still flushed with fear and felt sick just thinking about the nightmare.
It wasn't real, not the outcome, at least. What was real was the bed she was in, the graze of cotton on her skin and the warmth of her fiance as she leaned into him.
Shaking her head, she blurted, "It was just a mess."
"Yes, it was," he agreed. His eyes opened, and he let his palms coast up to cup her face, drawing her in to rest her forehead against his. " But we're still here. I'm still here, and I intend to stick around."
"You better," she told him, the last traces of her fright and sorrow shoved down as she tilted her head. Her lips met his, and she lost herself in his kiss. Gentle, tender pecks were dropped, replaced with longer, rougher strokes when her teeth tugged at his bottom lip. Opening up to her, he moaned as tongues met and swirled, the feel of him alive and well underneath her driving her on and heating her up. However, a wave of exhaustion flooded through her after a minute or two, and her body gave way to it. When the kisses slowed and stopped, she lowered herself down on the mattress beside Steve, a mumbled apology fluttering out. His blue gaze stared down at her, his minor frustration met with relief that she appeared to be alright, still. Tipping his chin up, his lips thinned for a moment. Suddenly, he moved away from her, legs swinging over the side of the bed and carrying him over to the dresser.
Tiredly, her eyebrows rose. "What are you doing?"
"Getting something," he shot over his shoulder, fetching up the wallet that was stationed next to his watch and keys. Opening it, he with drew a small card, the edges slightly worn and a tiny tear decorating the left side. Striding back to the bed, his bashful look came over his face as he sat down. "It's up to you whether you want to use it or not, but, well...here."
Holding out the card to her, he waited as Holly took it, turning it over in her fingers. Doctor Robert Tobin, board certified psychiatrist, stamped in fancy script and in black ink. Steve was recommending his doctor, really? An audible scoff shot out of her then, and her expression contorted in incredulity.
"It was one bad dream, Steve."
"Yes, that came from a rash of bad things and your own life being turned upside down," he pointed out, not unkindly. A lot change and upset had crashed through her life in just a few short weeks, and while it had only manifested itself as a nightmare, he shuddered to think what it could do to her in the future. It wouldn't go away; it would always be a part of her now. And it wasn't a question of her personal strength, either. To love him, to live with him and his strange life, it had to take a good measure of strength. It was a question of maintaining it, and giving her the tools to keep pushing on. He lifted a shoulder and focused on the comforter, picking at it. "Like I said, you don't have to use it. But, well...it's helped me."
The rejection had sat on the tip of her tongue. That was before, though. Before the reminder of all that had come to pass, the things she'd lost, the tasks she'd taken on. While she had done so at her discretion, it did not erase the weight each decision and event had placed upon her, pushing her down and stringing her out. She looked up at Steve, could see the deep concern in his irises, the faint lines of worry and fear cutting across his brow, lining his mouth. All for her. It could happen again, an endless cycle of horror and despair in her mind that would torment her while she dealt with the fallout in her conscious life. Glancing down at the card again, she sighed.
It would at least help to talk to someone about it all, she mused inwardly. If she wanted.
"I'll...I'll think about it, okay?" she said, not outright promising anything, but not pushing the idea away. It was all she could do, at that late hour and her head swimming with exhaustion and residual tremors. Rolling to her left, she placed the card on her nightstand, to be examined and pondered in the morning. Risking a look over her shoulder, she saw something akin to relief in Steve's face.
"Okay," he replied, turning the sheets back and climbing in again. Once he'd laid down, she shuffled over, head resting on his chest and a leg tangling with his. The barest chuckle rumbled in his throat, his arm looping around her easily and making her snuggle closer. "Can you sleep, or do you want to try and stay up longer?"
"Stay up. Talk to me, please," Holly insisted, despite the drooping of her eyelids and the gravel invading her voice. Considering a point on the ceiling for a moment, he acceded to her request, telling her about the designs Tony had shown him for the new base, how the quarters would be set up, with her humming occasionally to signal her awareness of his words. Their new home was nearly ready, he confirmed, with the last of the recruits for the first wave being canvassed and hired out. When he'd run out of things to say about that, he rolled on with a story from his adolescence, one involving Bucky, a bully, and a steaming pile of trash in mid-August Brooklyn. Just as he was describing how the rough-and-tumble fistfight had turned into a disgusting swim on the sidewalk, he heard the snuffling snort. Peeking down, he exhaled slowly, pleased to see that Holly had fallen into sleep without a trace of her former distress. Reaching over, he turned his lamp off, giving as much comfort as he was getting while drifting back into slumber himself.
A/N: And we have Holly's turn with nightmares.
I think it's fairly obvious that I do not work in nightmare treatment, nor am I psychologist/psychiatrist/psychotherapist. I also do not think that every nightmare needs to be analyzed or talked about with a doctor. However, I do think it would probably be likely that Holly would get some form of therapy, or at least one session in, to help process all that was going on at that time in the narrative of The Eleventh Hour. I briefly mentioned therapy for Steve and the possibility of it for Holly in that story, but I never really have addressed it. So, I sorta did here. I genuinely think that after being "defrosted," Steve had to go through some intensive treatment, just to be able to function in a world he does not understand and a time he was not born into. It's also my canon that he does not have outstanding appointments with his therapist, but he will schedule them on an as-needed basis, just so he can deal. Since it has become more socially acceptable to seek treatment (and because I have made it canon that SHIELD agents were required to do so) he continues this practice throughout the timeline.
I just wanted to show that the characters aren't always hunky-dory, and that Holly does actually live with the trauma of her experiences. She's just learned how to handle them...somehow. Steve as well.
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references that may have been made in the text.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all later!
