The dreams remained, of course. As her subconscious worked to make sense of all that had happened over the last few weeks, as it tried to guide her towards a decision… towards some sort of resolution… towards a sense of acceptance, those nebulous visions of times past and memories forgotten stayed with her.

But the nightmares had all but disappeared. It was part of the reason she'd agreed to go to Clint's in the first place. Had she still been waking screaming in the middle of the night, had she still been wandering unmoored through her days, she never would have gone to stay with a family… with small children. Especially not over the holidays. One reason was fear – could she trust herself to be around them? Could she keep from losing control of herself, of her powers? She'd never forgive herself if she hurt Laura or one of the kids like she did Natasha that night at the hospital. But another reason was simply pride. What kind of a freak would they think her to be if she woke every night in a fit and wandered aimlessly through an exhausted haze during the day?

Luckily, whatever the Professor had done had eased her mind at least enough to keep the nightmares at bay over the past few weeks.

And yet, on just their second night at the Barton's, she hears Bucky's familiar plea cutting through the din – "Wake up, baby. Wake up."

Her eyes shoot open, and with them, her lips. They part just enough to let loose a wild scream, one that reverberates through her chest and echoes in her ears. Through the blur of tears, she sees his face pinch and startle, pulling back slightly as it hovers above her. The scream fades to a rasp, then an exhausted breath. Then, "I'm sorry," barely a whisper. "I'm sorry," choked out amid a toe-curling sob.

He holds her close and tells her it's okay, wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. The entire dance is a well-rehearsed one. Even the dialogue remains the same. "It's alright," he whispers into her sweaty hair. "I got you."

She nods against him, the cries gradually fading as she continues to hiccup, "Sorry. I'm sorry," into his shoulder. He shushes her gently, letting his metal fingers graze along her back, cooling her hot skin. "I'm sorry," she repeats, grasping at his shirt and holding on for dear life.

000

"I don't want to go," she pouts, laying – fully clothed – on the bed the next morning. Bucky cocks a questioning brow at her and she sighs deeply, rolling onto her side and burying her face into the pillow. "It's so humiliating," she moans into it.

He reaches over and plucks the pillow from her grasp, tosses it across the bed, and holds out his hand. "I'm not bringing you breakfast in bed," he tells her, giving a little wiggle of his fingers to encourage her to get up. She gives him a pitiful stare, made even more pathetic by the dark circles under her eyes and the wild hair in her face. "Come on," he says, expression steadfast. "We're going downstairs."

"But I don't want to." She curls up tighter, as much as she can with the broken left leg still flopped uselessly on the bed.

"Tessa," he sighs out. "Nobody's gonna say anything. You had a nightmare. That's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I probably woke the baby," she protests. "I probably woke everyone up and they never got back to sleep and it's Christmas Eve eve and now they're all exhausted and the kids are crabby and it's all my fault."

A small, crooked smile perks at his lips. "I didn't hear anyone get up. And I have super hearing." She shoots him a dirty look. "I'm pretty sure you're the one who's crabby."

"I'm not hungry," she snipes, flipping her head around to bury her face in the blankets in lieu of a pillow.

He takes hold of her arm and hauls her into a seated position on the bed. "You can hobble down the stairs with me, or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you. But you're going downstairs. We're guests here, and if my ma taught me one thing it was to always be a well-mannered guest." She frowns miserably at him and he raises his brows as he levels her with a serious stare. "Get your ass up."

She chooses to hobble instead of being carried, though halfway down the stairs her exhausted body begins to think that it might not be so bad to be deposited at the breakfast table like a sack of potatoes. At least then her arms wouldn't ache with the effort of crutches and her leg wouldn't suffer the shooting pain that always seems to creep in on the stairs. She refuses Bucky's help, though, limping slowly and effortfully with the crutches rather than leaning on him for support. It's silly, she knows. He's not the one suffering from her refusal, but somehow it makes her feel like she's sticking it to him. You're just cutting off your nose to spite your face, that's what Grandpa Steve would say.

"Good morning," Laura greets from the stove as they enter the kitchen.

Clint's at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand, errant pieces of Nathaniel's breakfast in the other. He tosses the felled egg and bits of pancake onto the boy's plate, only to have him sweep them back off again with a wild laugh. Clint acts as though he's unaware of the game, but there's a glint in his eye that shows otherwise. "You look like you need coffee," he says to Tessa as she flops into the chair across from him.

"You are just in time for the last batch of pancakes," Laura says with a smile. "And they're the best." She winks over at Tessa before flipping off the stove. "We always give the kids the practice ones."

Bucky pours two cups of coffee, adding the needed sugar into one mug. "They already ate?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder to find that Cooper and Lila are nowhere to be seen.

"Out in the snow," Clint supplies. "I told them they're not allowed back in until I see an army of snowmen or one of them gets frostbite. Not sure which will happen first."

"Considering how well they cooperate, I'm guessing they'll both get hypothermia long before even the first snowman is built," Laura says as she sets a platter of pancakes on the table and takes a seat next to Clint.

Bucky sets down the sugar coffee in front of Tessa and takes a sip of his own before gently lifting her leg from the chair to her right and sitting in it, repositioning her leg on his lap once he's settled. "Maybe I'll help them out," he offers thoughtfully. "Can't remember the last time I built a snowman."

Clint gives up the game with Nate – "Eat it," he tells the boy finally, no-nonsense tone to his voice – and gazes across the table at Tessa for a long moment. She doesn't seem to notice, too caught up in staring at the coffee in her hands. "Sleep well?" he asks finally, knowing smirk on his face. Laura smacks him – hard – under the table. "Ow! What?" he asks, turning to his wife. "It's a common morning-time question."

Tessa clears her throat and looks up over the lip of her mug at the couple in front of her. "I'm sorry," she says a bit sheepishly.

"For what?" Laura asks, pouring syrup over her mound of pancakes.

"For waking everyone," she replies. "Last night." She shakes her head solemnly, setting her coffee down on the table. "I haven't done that in a while. I didn't think… I wouldn't have come here if I thought…"

Clint scoffs loudly. "Please." He gets up and lifts Nathaniel from his booster seat, freeing him to run off and find some toys. "You wouldn't have come here if you thought you might have a nightmare? Seems a little dramatic."

"I just…" she starts, not quite sure where to go.

"Are you alright?" Laura asks softly, her hands stilling as she begins to cut her pancakes. "You look exhausted."

Tessa shrugs. "I'm just sorry I woke you. And the kids."

Clint returns to the table with another mug full of coffee. "Nah, those kids won't wake up for anything. Until Christmas morning," he says, plopping down into his chair. "Then they'll be awake, that's for damn sure."

"Still," Tessa says, ducking her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Laura offers. Then, with a full mouth, she pushes the platter of pancakes closer to her and Bucky and orders, "Eat."

They do. Though most of Tessa's breakfast ends up mashed up around her plate as she absently shoves the syrup-drenched morsels around with her fork. Once breakfast is essentially over, Bucky makes good on his promise to go out and help with the snowmen, and Laura scoops up the sticky baby and takes him upstairs for a bath.

Clint remains seated at the table across from Tessa, unmoving. He stares over at her, frowning at the way she continues to swirl the dregs of coffee in her mug, seemingly lost in watching the liquid move. He rises with a huff and spins towards the kitchen counter, grabbing the carafe. "You want more?" he offers suddenly, holding out the pot after pouring himself some.

"Sure," she says with a shrug, startled countenance fading as she holds out her mug.

He plops the sugar bowl onto the table in front of her and sits back down. "So," he begins, watching her slowly stir a spoonful into the steaming liquid. She looks up at him, a questioning glance. "Is that how it usually goes down?"

Her brow furrows, lips pull into a confused frown. "What? Coffee?"

"Nightmares," he corrects quickly. He gives her a stern look, a thing she rarely receives from Clint. "You wake up screaming? Can't fall back asleep?" She stares at him from across the table, unmoving, mug stilled halfway to her mouth. "That happen a lot?"

She pulls in a tight breath and takes a drink, sets down her coffee slowly before responding. "It happens," she says with a shrug.

"That's it? That's all you have to say? It happens?"

She rubs at her tired eyes with her fists. "What do you want me to say, Clint?" Her eyes are completely bloodshot when she looks back up at him, so much so that it makes him cringe. "Yeah. It happens."

He nods. "And you're okay with that?"

"I'm kind of getting used to it," she mutters, gaze falling back to the coffee on the table before her.

He huffs out a quick, biting laugh and ends with a sigh. "Well, Doc, that sounds like absolute bullshit to me."

"O-kay," she drawls out, irritation playing on her face as she continues to stare down at her coffee.

Clint's frown deepens as he asks, "What are your nightmares about?" He sees her shoulders stiffen. "This one at least. What was this nightmare about?"

She lets out a long sigh. "I don't really like to talk about them."

He reaches across the table and flops his hand down on top of her mug. "I don't really give a shit," he says, slowly dragging the mug over to him.

She follows the movement for a fraction of second before looking up at him with wide eyes. "What…"

He locks onto her gaze, raises his eyebrows in the dad means business way he's managed to perfect over the years, and says to her, "You need to make a choice. Do you want to keep living like this? Getting back bits and pieces of your life in dreams… in nightmares? Having to have someone go inside your head and… clean it out so you can think? So you can make it through the day?" He pauses for a moment and gives her an assessing look. "'Cause you know… you know that if you have your professor friend build another wall – or whatever the hell he does – you know that eventually that one will break down too and this will all just start up again."

She reels back. "You don't know that."

"Tessa," he says, shaking his head methodically, "Your own brain is begging you to remember. You are trying to get your life back. Why won't you just… let it happen?"

She stares at him from across the table, her voice small, almost frightened when she says, "You called me Tessa."

He reclines back in his chair and sips casually at his coffee. "Talk to me," he says, voice low. He sits up and scoots into the table, settling his elbows atop it so he can lean closer to her. "What are you so damn scared of?"

"Are you serious?" she bites out with a sardonic laugh. "What am I scared of?"

He ignores her wide eyes, her shocked expression, and remains completely collected as he says, "Talk it out. Use me as a sounding board."

She huffs out an annoyed breath and rolls her eyes, reaches across the table and steals back her mug. But she doesn't drink from it, choosing instead to thoughtfully stare at the dark liquid inside. "What if I'm not Tessa?" she utters finally, her voice so low, he can barely make it out. "What if I'm…"

He raises his eyebrows, dropping his head just a bit as he watches her. "Go on," he prompts. But she looks to be at an absolute loss, her brow furrowed in thought as her eyes gaze off into the ether. "Doc," he says, bringing her gaze back up to him. He cocks his head curiously. "What was the dream about?"

Tears rise unbidden to her eyes, blurring her vision as she looks over at him. But still, his gaze is steady, void of any judgement, free from any pity. "It was Anna," she says meekly, reaching up to swipe at an errant tear. Then, rolling her eyes, "Me, I guess." She shakes her head dismissively. "It was…" She straightens suddenly, her shoulders tightening as she steels herself. "I can remember her. I know… I know she's not real. But… in my head, she is. She's real and she's… my sister."

Clint nods. "And if you get your memories back, get them back the way they should be, you'll lose her." She looks away briefly, unable to meet his eyes as that truth rolls out of him. He sighs. "And if you remember being her… then you might lose yourself too. That's it, right? You're afraid you'll lose Anna… afraid you'll lose Tessa…"

"And James," she continues for him before looking up and meeting his eyes. "And you. And everyone who knows me as I am."

He gives her a perplexed look. "You think we're all that easy to get rid of?"

She shrugs, sniffling a bit as she angrily swipes the tears from her face. "You don't know me… who I was."

"Neither do you."

She returns her gaze to his, her eyes suddenly cold and stony. "Here's what I do know about me before all of this happened… I drove my brother crazy and left him to die alone. I held such a grudge against Jean that I didn't talk to her for over a year. And then I killed her. I couldn't keep control of my powers and I fucking lost it. And in the end I tried to off myself… at home, so my family could find me. Does she sound like someone you'd want to be friends with?"

He cocks a brow at her and offers a small, crooked smile. "She sounds like a kid to me. A stubborn, irritating kid – which none of us doubted you were – who got dealt a shit hand and had trouble dealing."

"And what makes you think I can deal now?"

"C'mon Doc," he says, leaning back in his chair once more. "You forget, I've seen you in a pickle." He gives her a sly wink before the grin falls from his face, slowly morphing in to a more somber expression. "You're cool under pressure. You keep your head, even when the world's falling apart around you. And you're too damn stubborn to ever give up on anything."

She looks away, but he can see the slightest upward tick of her mouth as she fights to stave off a smile. "Sure, if you say so."

"You got us out of an impossible situation in Minsk. You saved my life, pulled a bullet out of me without any tools, without any help."

"Without any morphine," she interrupts, raising a teasing brow.

He nods and blows out a slow, pained breath as the memory flashes behind his eyes. Then he plows on. "You jumped headfirst into the mission with Lobe, even though it was dangerous as hell and – let's be real – you had no business being involved."

She shoots him a dirty glare and he lets loose a small chuckle, throwing his hands up in defeat.

After a beat, he sits uprights and goes on to say, "You wouldn't quit." His gaze drops down to the tabletop, his fingers fidgeting with the handle of his mug. "When I was doing CPR…" He stops and shakes his head sadly. "You were gone, kid. No heartbeat. You were blue." He looks back up at her and shares a soft, genuine smile. "But I knew you wouldn't give up, so I didn't either. And you came back. And now?" He reaches across the table and gently grasps her fingers. "These last few months… hell most of this last year… your mind's been getting ripped apart from the inside. And still you don't give up. You don't quit." He drops her hand and rises from the table, turns to deposit his coffee mug into the sink. When he spins back around to face her, he leans a hip into the counter and says, voice strong and decisive "There's not a doubt in my mind that you can deal with whatever your past has to throw at you." He raises a single brow at her and points a firm finger her way. "You just have to have as much faith in yourself as I do."

He crosses the room, dropping a palm onto her shoulder. She reaches up and lays her hand over his, gives his fingers a quick squeeze. "Thanks," she mutters simply, eyes remaining focused on the table before her.

A smile cracks on his face. He can tell, from the softness of her tone and the fact that she's as good as giving him a hug, that the thanks is genuine. "No problem," he replies. Then, pulling from her grasp, he takes a deep breath and says, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go rope that super soldier of yours into helping me put up the lights before we're buried under snow."

She startles a bit, turning as he leaves to shout after him, "Be careful! I don't think he can heal from a broken neck!"