Chapter 1:

Screaming woke her. It took her a few minutes to realize they were her own screams. The room was black, the curtains drawn tight over the window, blocking out the bright lights of New York City. She was sitting up in bed, the sheets tangled around her legs. She was breathing heavy and a cold sweat clung to her forehead like dew drops on grass. She heaved out a breath, trying to calm herself, and dropped her head into her palms.

There was a pounding on her door.

"Waverly?! Waverly? Are you alright?"

The knob jiggled but it was locked. The door wouldn't open.

Waverly took a shuddering breath, still trying to calm down. She disentangled her legs from the sheets and crossed over to the door, her eyes having adjusted to the darkness. She turned the lock, opened the door, and squinted against the light spilling in from the small hallway. The light was eclipsed by the tall, muscled form of Steve Rogers. She could tell by his appearance that, even though it must have been two or three in the morning, he hadn't been sleeping; his pajamas, a t-shirt and flannel pants, were far to neat and his hair wasn't even mussed. There were faint dark circles under his eyes but she could barely see them. The super solider serum he had been given all those years ago meant the lack of sleep didn't affect him as much as it affected her.

Once her door had been opened fully, Steve reached in and put his hands on Waverly's shoulders. "Wave, are you okay?"

She nodded, still trying to force her breathing and heart rate back to normal. "Yeah, fine. Just a… just a nightmare." She tipped herself forward, falling against Steve's chest. His hands slid down from her shoulders and wrapped around her back in a hug. She took his shirt in her fists and hung on, breathing in his scent, letting it wash over her and calm her. Even after a month, there was still a slight air of awkwardness in his embrace. Waverly had to remind herself Steve was still a little shy with women.

But they had been dating for a month now. Ever since the events of the Battle of New York had been wrapped up. Upon Thor's departure, the Avengers, and Waverly (she didn't really consider herself an Avenger; she wasn't a super hero like the others), had split ways. They had been granted an extended leave of absence from Director Fury. A time to rest, recover, recuperate from all the insanity that had taken place in the span of just a few days.

Except so far, not much recovering or recuperating had been done. At least not from what Waverly could tell. She and Steve didn't sleep much. They both had nightmares, flashbacks. And from what little contact Waverly had with her brother, he seemed to be distancing himself from her, he wasn't doing much better. And if she had to bet every dollar to her name, she would bet Clint had the worst of it all. Waverly had spoken to Natasha a few times as well. Nat always hid her feelings, concealed her emotions. But the spy hadn't gotten out of it unscathed. She had her own demons in that closed off mind. And Waverly was sure the other Avengers did too, though she didn't talk to them much.

Mainly, it was just her a Steve, in their little apartment in Manhattan, trying to figure out where to go from here.

Steve broke away from the hug, looked down at Waverly who looked up to meet his eyes.

"Movie?" He asked. This was their routine. They would go to bed, or at least try to. And almost every night one of them would wake with a nightmare. And then they would camp out on the couch, watch a movie until the sun came up. The dark things that dwelled in their minds never seemed quite as bad in the light of day.

"You weren't sleeping." Waverly said, ignoring his question.

Steve shrugged his massive shoulders. "Couldn't."

Waverly just nodded. "Mary Poppins?"

"Sure." Steve stepped aside, held out an arm indicating Waverly should go ahead.

She led the way into the living room, switched on the lamp on the end table, and then crossed to her giant DVD library lined up in neat rows underneath the TV. She found Mary Poppins and slid the disc into the DVD player. Steve, meanwhile, grabbed the blanket from the arm chair and settled himself onto the couch. When Waverly crossed over with the remote, he held up a corner of the blanket and she crawled under, leaning against his chest. She pressed play and the movie began. The soft flickering of the screen, the rise and fall of Steve's chest at her back, the steady thump of his heart, lulled her into sleep even before 'A Spoonful of Sugar.'


Steve knew Waverly was asleep when he heard the soft snores puncture through the dialog of the movie. He felt a small smile tip the corner of his lips. He knew Waverly didn't sleep well; neither of them did. It didn't bother him so much; he had slept for 70-something years. And his altered metabolism didn't require much sleep anyway. But he knew the lack of sleep was taking a toll on Waverly. She was thinner than he had ever seen her. Her eyes had a hallow look about them. She was exhausted. He was glad that she felt safe enough, comforted enough, with him to let herself sleep. Let her mind go blank. Let her body and soul rest. And in turn, that peacefulness soothed Steve as well. He felt his eyelids getting heavy. A blink. And then another, longer than the last. And again. And his head lolled against the back of the couch, his arm slung around Waverly's waist. And then the super soldier was out. And they both slept.


Clint didn't know how much caffeine the human body could take in at once but he was sure he was pushing the limit. But he needed the coffee. He needed the buzz to keep his eyelids from drooping; keep himself from falling asleep. The night before had been rough and he knew from past experience that tonight would be so as well. So he decided just to force himself not to sleep. He had forced himself to stay awake for extended periods of time on many previous missions, it should be easy. But this was different. He was drained; emotionally, physically, mentally. He was exhausted and he needed the sleep. But with the sleep came the dreams, the nightmares. Last night he had murdered Natasha. And whenever he dreamt of murdering Natasha, a dream of murdering Waverly followed. And he had no desire to dream of that, again. So, Clint poured himself his fifth (or was it sixth?) cup of coffee. Black. The way Natasha drank it. He never used to drink it black but sharing countless missions with Natasha had forced him to pick up a taste for it. He thought of texting Natasha, just for something to do, to keep him awake. But he knew she was off on her own leave, unwinding in whatever way it was the Black Widow unwound her web. Ha, spider joke, Clint thought, slightly delirious.

He could text his sister. But he shot that idea down at once. He knew he needed his sister and she needed him but he didn't want to face her. Couldn't face her. Not yet. Still too soon. He wasn't ready for that conversation. So, instead he flipped on the TV. It was tuned to the 'Outdoor Channel' and a program about hunting rifles was on. Intrigued, Clint watched for a moment. The hosts were demonstrating different scopes and how to sight. They were shooting at targets on a range. The first host took a shot. Missed the bull's eye by a good five inches. Clint snorted, taking a long swig of coffee. The next host lined up, sighted, and fired. He missed the mark as well. "Ha," Clint laughed, "Amateurs. Stance is all wrong. Sighting with one eye. Forgot to calculate wind speed into their trajectory." He flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch that wasn't an insult to sharp shooters. He paused in his channel surfing when he heard the sound of pacing footsteps above him. Glancing at the ceiling he thought, Guess Tony can't sleep either.

After the battle, after things were mostly cleaned up, Tony had opened his tower to the other Avengers. Converted it into a sort of headquarters. Offered them all a place to live. Banner had moved in at once, having nowhere to live since his self-induced exile. Clint's apartment building had been demolished in the fighting, so he didn't have many options either. He had finally finished moving in a week ago and was just getting settled in. The place was nice, he was grateful to Tony, and Pepper as it was twelve percent her tower too (or so Tony said which didn't make much sense to Clint), but the place was a constant reminder of the battle and of Loki and his possession of Clint's mind. Which made it hard to move on. But Clint didn't really have any other option right now. And he liked the company. Ever since Waverly had moved in with Steve, home life had been kinda quiet. So for now, the archer would stay, and try to pick up the broken pieces of his mind and remake himself.


AN: Not much of an AN on this one... they'll be more from Steve's POV going forward. Hope you like; please review! :) -CL