More than Love

Summary: Tie-in and continuation oneshots to my story Love is not enough, prompted and original ones.

Pairings: Steve/Cath, minor Kono/Adam and Danny/Gabby

Warnings: The title really says it all.. Also, I probably haven't caught all errors on the final read-through.

Nightmares

Watching the thin, dark-colored liquid the hospital vendor machine called coffee drop into the paper cup was almost cathartic. Its straightforwardness, simplicity and repetitiveness was hypnotizing to his tired eyes. Taking the cup, and dropping sugar and milk in it was such an automatic action that his exhausted mind had time to take a power nap even as his body went through the motions. All his senses worked perfectly, but none of the data they recovered from his surroundings actually registered as his brain seemed to be in sleep mode.

He made his way back to the room on autopilot, noticing as he entered that a nurse must have been in to fluff the pillows a bit. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. There were a few get well cards on the small table beside the bed, some floral arrangements and a set of Kamekona-faced balloons floating under the ceiling that had him stifle a laugh every time he saw the new marketing trick. He set the coffee down, and arranged himself in the chair by her bedside as comfortably as he could. Catherine was sleeping so that nothing but silence and the sound of breathing filled the room.

Her parents and Steve had quickly fallen into a routine of visitation; never once did they stay in the room together. Neither Catherine nor either of them was ready for that kind of confrontation, and no one wanted to add to an already stressful situation. She would be released from the hospital in another day or two when the Doctors felt certain that there were no more internal injuries they might have missed, and all the visible once were beginning to heal properly. Anything that needed discussing could wait until then, both sides had silently agreed, and so Steve hadn't actually seen Admiral and Mrs Rollins since he'd stormed their daughter's hospital room right after Wo Fat's death.

His work schedule had been forcibly suspended by the governor who insisted he take time off to set his affairs in order, and had not been persuaded by Steve's manifold assurances that he was fine and fit for duty. Part of Steve was sure the governor had seen through those words, and known that he merely wanted to work in order to distract himself from the diverse forms of chaos his life had turned into as Denning had bluntly told him to go put the pieces back together, and not show up at the office again until he had done so. The part of him that wasn't furious at the governor's interference, was grateful for the extra time once he had discovered what it took to arrange the burial of his mother in the same piece of earth she had already been buried in two decades before.

A low whimpering noise yanked him out of his reminiscing, and his eyes snapped up to Catherine's face. Once peaceful in her sleep, it was now contorted by fear and pain. She whimpered again, then gave a small cry. Her breathing had quickened; it was shallow. He worried that she wasn't getting enough air. Tears were rolling down her pale cheeks, and her hands had clenched into the sheets. She was twisting on her bed restlessly. Her hands, still balled into fists, moved around frantically as if trying to fight off some attacker. She continued to yelp and whimper and move in powerful, sudden jerks; she was so afraid.

When she began to whisper softly, pleading for someone to stop, Steve overcame his shock at the sudden change in her sleeping mood, and grasped her hand. He caressed it with his thumb, murmuring softly, trying to soothe her, but it did not seem to reach her. Her other hand came around, and she began scratching at his arm in an attempt to get free. Steve got up, and moved to stand by her side a little helplessly. He didn't have a clue as to what to do to ease her stress. He thought briefly about calling for the nurses, but they might try to physically restrain her, and that could only make things worse.

"Catherine," he whispered instead, leaning over her face. He touched his forehead to hers as gently as he could, and murmured her name again. "Cath, it's me, Steve. Please wake up. It's just a nightmare. Wake up, it can't hurt you. No one can hurt you."

He laid his hand against her cheek.

"Catherine, come back to me. Wake up. It's me, Steve. Wake up for me."

She whimpered softly. Her movements had grown more sluggish, but she was still fighting him somewhat, and she gave no sign of waking up. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, barely a press of lips on lips. When she didn't respond, he did it again. Then again, and then he kissed her forehead. His thumb moved in slow circles across her cheek. He kissed her forehead again, then carefully helped her into a sitting position. It was times like these when he hated the sling they had given him for his fissure. He could barely maneuver in the stupid thing. Carefully, he placed himself half-sitting on the bed, and drew her face into the crook of his neck. Her hands clawed at his shirt, and she shifted as if trying to escape his embrace, but he wouldn't let her go. He wouldn't let her go through this alone. If she couldn't hear his voice, maybe she could feel his presence in her nightmare, and maybe it could take her fear away.

"Catherine, I'm here. You're safe. I will always protect you," he murmured into her hair, not sure if she even heard it.

Her struggling continued for a while longer, and he was almost desperate enough to call the nurses when she began to quieten down. He kept talking to her until her agitation had completely faded, and then he still murmured nonsense into her hair in hopes of keeping her dreams serene. When she stayed calm, he placed her gently down onto the mattress again, and brought the chair ever closer to the bed. Steve didn't sit back down in it again, though. He preferred to stay propped on the bed, one of her hands lazily clasped in his. He drew shapeless patterns onto the palm of her hand, and the motion must have tickled her because he saw her nose scrunch up in that cute way it always did when he tickled her foot. A minute later she opened her eyes.

"Steve?", her sleepy voice asked as her eyes fluttered back close in exhaustion.

"Go back to sleep, Cath," he said, then deliberately tickled her palm to see her nose scrunch up again. He knew he should really let her sleep, but his thoughts were frazzled after her nightmare. He didn't want her to have a repeat experience, and if she were awake she couldn't.

Her yes fluttered open and closed again.

"Where am I?"

Now he grew worried.

"In the hospital. Don't you remember?"

Finally, Catherine's eyes opened fully, and he could see them shining with new, unshed tears. His hand wandered from her palm to her cheek, wiping away the single tear that escaped her. His other hand slowly stroked over her hair.

"What's wrong, Cath?"

"I'm free? This isn't a dream?," she croaked back, and all he could do was shake his head. "Before I woke up I was back there. Wo Fat, your mother... I thought... I'm so sorry, Steve."

"Shh, it's not your fault; you couldn't have done anything. I'm just glad you came back to me, Catherine."

"But your mother-"

"It's not your fault, Cath. Wo Fat killed her, not you. You couldn't have done anything." He looked at her sternly. "I want you to concentrate on looking after yourself and getting better, you hear me. Don't feel guilty over something that's not your fault."

She smiled slightly.

"Is that an order, sir?", she asked, a bit of her usual cheek finding its way back into her demeanor.

"Yes, LT, I think it is. So is this: go back to sleep, Cath. No more tickling, I promise."

She shifted on the bed a bit as if trying to get comfortable, but her eyes were alert now, and there would be no easy way to go back to sleep. For a moment after being awoken she had been so disoriented, she thought they were at his house. Then the nightmare had broken through, and she couldn't quite believe that she was truly safe. Having him confirm that had reassured her, but she was loathe to go back to her nightmare now. She didn't fancy reliving everything tat Wo Fat had done to her once more tonight, and she certainly didn't look forward to future nights. She knew she would get blasted little sleep in the weeks and months to come.

Catherine reached out a hand, three fingers curling into Steve's shirt. She wasn't looking at his face, but she could feel his eyes on her as his hand came up to envelop hers. He brought it up to his lips, and kissed it. Following the movement with her eyes, she saw him smile reassuringly at her. He was telling her that he would be there all night in case she had another nightmare. Despite feeling safe with him, that did nothing to reassure her. She was still afraid of going back to sleep as it could mean going back to that dark, daunting place where all her fears came to life.

"I don't think I can go back to sleep," she admitted with a downcast gaze.

"You have to try, Catherine." His voice sounded as tired as she had ever heard it. Looking up she took in his appearance as if for the first time that night. The bags underneath his eyes seemed to have bags of their own, and the skin was so dark there she might think he had lost a bet and used her eyeliner. His face was pale and translucent, his stubble at a couple of days old. His hair was even more unruly than its usual just-out-of-bed trademark style, and, while it was clean, it almost had a crestfallen look to it instead of its usual fluff. His clear blue eyes had lost their lively shine. All in all he looked ready to fall asleep of his feed and sick enough to keel over any minute.

She shifted on the minuscule bed again, making as much room as she could.

"Help me, sailor?", she asked, masking her true intent of making him rest up a bit in a plea for help he was more likely to accept. With what she could easily read as a grateful look, Steve climbed into bed without any form of protest. She snuggled into him as soon as he had lain down, and he draped an arm around her protectively. Due to the dimensions of the bed her nose ended up pressed against his throat. She didn't mind much as it allowed her to inhale his scent with every breath she took.

"Better?", he asked.

"Yup."

"The hospital probably has some policy in place against two people sleeping with each other."

She raised her head, and gave him a look.

"I think that sentence got away from you, sailor."

"I meant sleeping in the same bed," he defended himself. "You know perfectly well that I meant sleeping in the same bed."

"Yeah, but you might want to practice clarity. I don't think my parents will take another making-love-on-the-floor comment kindly."

He stuck his tongue out at her which made him look like a little kid, but it brought some color back to his cheeks, and Catherine was grateful. She was just glad that he was there, and that Wo Fat had not been able to make good on his threat to turn her into someone Steve could not love. So when she woke up from another nightmare hours later, sitting straight up in bed, and became aware of his hand moving up and down her back, she didn't even hesitate to throw herself back into his waiting arms. She didn't bother to hide the angry, fearful tears either or to suppress the sobs that wrecked her body as he held her through the rest of the night. And when the nurse came, alerted to her distress by the noise, and he commanded her out of the room in a tone that would accept no argument, she felt entitled to hide her face in his chest until the sun had long since risen.

5-0 5-0 5-0 5-0 5-0 5-0 5-0 5-0

He'd finally gotten to take her home the day before his mother's funeral. When he'd asked her if she wanted to go to his place or hers, her answer that her home was with him had surprised him in a way that made a big goofy grin appear on his face. Though she had amended that her parents were probably crashing at her place in order to deflate his rapidly growing ego. He'd just kept grinning at her, and asked her if her parents thought she was still a virgin. She had slapped him on his healthy arm at that. She'd looked at him a little warily when he had gotten into the driver's seat, but despite her concerns they had made it home without incident.

Seeing as there wasn't anything to do – no criminal to catch, no satellite imagery to wriggle out of Catherine – and there wasn't much they could do either between their various injuries, Steve suggested they curl up on the couch, and watch a movie. They silently agreed that neither his favorite hook-up film nor The Notebook would become a part of this evening's entertainment. They settled instead for an action movie that Steve put on while Catherine got whatever unhealthy food he had in the house. She included some Navy rations she found in his cupboard without batting an eyelash. This was Steve; she may not have seen the rations again since their strange foxhole fantasy thing, but she wasn't surprised that he had them.

When she returned to the living room, her SEAL was already waiting for her. He scooted over a little to make room for her on the couch, and raised an eyebrow as she spread a bowl of popcorn, a few bags of chips and a couple of Navy rations on his table. She cast him a look at the latter to which he shrugged with an embarrassed grin. This in turn made Catherine laugh slightly as she settled against his uninjured shoulder, and he pressed play. Over the time of the movie's running, the couple switched position a few times to sit more comfortably. Due to Steve's sling, which he was fortunately wearing like a good little patient, they ended up with him lying back on the couch with his head on the armrest, Catherine sprawled over his chest and his arm resting carefully across her back.

The movie was long since forgotten by that time as the two of them were making out. Steve half-expected Danny to knock on his door with a trick-or-treating Grace or Kamekona showing up out of the blue, but nothing happened to interrupt their movie night. He felt her body pressed fully against his as he let his free hand roam over her side. Judging by her heavy breathing and the smirk he could feel against his lips every time they let up to take in some air, he wasn't the only one who was reminded of their little tryst on the floor. It had happened just in front of the couch, in fact, and if his arm wasn't injured and she wasn't still healing, he might roll them both over and onto the ground to recreate that night.

As it was, that was completely out of the question for the time being, so when the end credits rolled and the room was cast in shadows, he reluctantly let go of her, but not without placing one last, tender kiss on her throat. He could barely make her out in the dark, yet when his hand slipped to rest over her collar bone, he was pleased to feel her heart racing in her chest. She let herself slump over him, and he welcomed the feeling of her boneless body even as it made breathing a little more difficult. His hand slid to her back.

"It's late. We should probably catch some sleep," he murmured into the dark. Now that he had time to think, all kinds of unpleasant thoughts regarding tomorrow's events were making their way into his mind.

"You sure? We could put in Child's Play 2, and explore this a little more in depth," Catherine suggested back, but the edge to her voice told him that she too didn't want to go to bed. He rubbed her back.

"Cath?"

"Honestly?", she asked in as small voice, and he nodded even though he was sure she couldn't see it. She continued anyway. "I'm scared of going to sleep. Just thinking about what's waiting for me when I close my eyes... I know you'll be there, and I know it's not real. It always feels so real, though. It feels just like it did when I... when he... I don't want to go to sleep."

He continued to rub her back, not sure what he could say to make her feel better.

"What's your excuse?", she asked him out of the blue. "I can tell something is bothering you, has been bothering you for days. Won't you tell me?"

He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. Something was bothering him, but he had hoped against hope that he had been nonchalant enough to hide it even from her. He should have known better. Catherine knew him and his mannerism in the most intricate details. He should have known there would be no escaping her scrutiny. He moved his good arm back over her back, and pressed her to him a little further. As much as she relied on him, she was his lifeline too. He had been struggling with it all for days, but had been unable to tell anyone.

Mary had come home a few days ago. When she had found the house and the office empty, she had asked Danny where she might find him, and had turned up at the hospital subsequently. She had been so distraught at Catherine's predicament and Doris' death that Steve hadn't had the heart to tell her the truth when she asked him how he was doing. He'd only told her that he was dealing, not mentioned that he was dealing a little too well. In fact, he had trouble needing to deal with anything. Whatever small prick of anguish he had felt when Danny had first revealed Doris' dead body to him, had not grown or even come back to show its face when HPD had zipped her into a body bag. He had felt glad that Wo Fat was dead, he had felt happy that his team – his SEALs included – were okay, and he had felt both excited and nervous about going back to Catherine... and her parents.

He could not describe what he had felt when they had taken Doris' body away. He wasn't sure he had felt anything at all. He had stared at her face, he had watched them place her into the black plastic bag, and cart her off. He could not remember what he had been thinking, or if he had been thinking anything. He had just stared, one big lump of flesh and bones devoid of any form of conscious thought or emotion. Afterwards he had gone through the motions. He had informed his sister, taken care of the funeral arrangements, invited people who might want to say goodbye to her – and he had not felt a damn thing about it.

Ever since then he had been able to think of nothing else when he wasn't distracting himself. He kept thinking that he should feel something, that the grief must be hiding inside him somewhere but he just couldn't seem to reach it. If it was there, it was so perfectly buried inside him that there was no way to find it. He suspected that there was nothing to find, though.

He got up, and led her upstairs to the bed. He was determined that she at least would get some sleep tonight. They disrobed quietly, and laid down facing each other, mindful of his injured arm.

"I feel like a monster," he finally said in a defeated tone. "My mother is dead, and that gets no reaction from me. I don't feel anything."

"That's the shock talking, Steve. You can't let it win you over." She said it, but even she didn't believe it. The way he spoke about his mother's death, so detached, and the way he spoke about his feeling about it, made it clear enough that this was more complicated than mere shock. There was nothing mere about losing your mother, find her twenty years later in some remote village, only to lose her again after less than a year.

"...Maybe, yeah." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I just... I feel this urge to go back to Suruga, and open that door again. Every time I looked at her lying there I thought she was having me on. What the hell does that say about my mother and me?"

Catherine smiled sadly; he could just make it out in the moonlight. There was no pity in her eyes, but compassion and worry. She raised a hand to his cheek, and rubbed softly over the stubble. He couldn't see it properly, but he was sure that her nose was scrunching up as it tickled her palm. The thought made him smile. Her hand wandered to his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He felt a tug that told him to move closer. He willingly went into her embrace until his nose was buried against her throat. She didn't say anything, didn't tell him that it would be fine. She just held him, and it made him snuggle closer as if trying to crawl into her sweet-scented skin and let himself be at peace there.

She kept caressing through his hair, and he could tell when she was drifting off when her motions slowed, then ceased. He exhaled lightly, glad that she had found some rest even if he knew he was unlikely to. He curled his hand into her hair, drawing back a little to look at her. She looked peacefully asleep for now, though he knew that could change at any time. Her nightmares frightened him. Every time she closed her eyes, she seemed to go back to that place where he could not help her. He had not been able to spare her that fate, or to find her when it had happened. He had been helpless to save her, and that was enough to give him nightmares about everything that could have happened.

Most often he dreamed about the moment when Kono told them that Cath had been found. Only, in his dreams, she did not amend that they were taking her to the hospital, and her face was so apologetic that it ripped the air from his lungs. He dreamed of making his way to the morgue to identify her, or to see her one last time, or to be sure that she was really gone; he never knows which. Seeing the bruises on her body, in his dreams or in reality, always gave him pause as he thinks about what was done to her, what madness she had to suffer through because of him. Her own nightmares almost scared him more. She went back there every time she had one, and he could only wait for her to wake up and hold her. Sometimes she seemed to hear his voice, and it calmed her down, and he was grateful. Other times her anguish went on regardless of what he said or did. Every minute felt like a lifetime when she was crying in his arms, or fighting him off in her sleeping panic.

He felt the change in her instantly. Catherine's whole body tensed up with the beginning of her nightmare. She turned away from him as if seeking solitude. He moved a little closer to her, resting his forehead against her temple. He whispered to her as calmly as his rapidly beating heart would allow him. He felt the first wet drops slide down both their cheeks as he molded himself further against her. He kissed them away lightly, still talking to her just loud enough to be heard over her whimpers. She was so afraid, and there was nothing he could do except hope that she heard him and that she would wake up soon.

With a start, she sat upright in bed. Catherine looked around frantically as she slowly became aware of her surrounding.

"Oh, this is unreal!", she wailed loudly, frustrated with herself and her nightmares. She let herself fall back onto the pillow, and continued to stare up at the ceiling. Silent tears were still falling from her eyes even as she tried to blink them away angrily. She couldn't believe her stupid mind was still playing tricks on her. It had been so real. She had been taken to Wo Fat and tortured. She had called for Steve, and at one point she thought she had head him, but no rescue came. She had kicked and screamed and cursed, but nothing had helped her. She had told herself to wake up, told herself that this was only a dream, and Wo Fat had laughed at her only to torture her more. She raised her hands to her forehead. "Am I ever going to get some sleep again?!"

Steve raised himself slightly above her, and kissed another tear away. She was looking at him, yet he doubted that the question was meant for him. Nonetheless, he answered her.

"You're the strongest woman I know, Cath. You'll get through this."

She snorted, unbelieving.

"You will, and you're not alone. You have me and our friends, and we'll help you."

"You say the sweetest things these days," she replied somewhat comically. She didn't want to think about her nightmare now. Steve had enough to deal with, and she had an appointment with Commander Klesko the day after tomorrow.

"I mean it."

"I know. Thank you," she said, and she meant it, too. They snuggled back together, and spend the rest of the night in silent companionship. Neither found any more sleep, but as the sun rose they both felt more rested through their closeness than through any amount of shut-eye they had gotten over the last few days.

End

A/N: I haven't posted in forever in this fandom - or at all, really. Real life has sucked me in, but I found this story and another one that I had started writing when I began More Than Love and figured I'd give them some fine-tuning and post them to round up the story a little more.