The World Keeps Changing

Chapter 11

A few days later, I was woken by a knock on my door in the middle of the night. I stumbled to the door in my tank and flannel lounge pants, expecting a nightmare rattled Bucky. He seemed to be coming to find me more nights than not of late, since he had come back from that first mission. I'd never forget the first time, about three weeks after I'd started living in the Tower. I'd had a nightmare myself that night and gone out to the commons for some air, heard the most horrific scream of my life and found him curled on the floor in front of the couch, deep in a flashback. It took a long time to coax him back to himself and he had been so distraught that I'd brought him back to my own room so he wouldn't be alone, and after that he had seemed to be comfortable coming to me during the night and we developed a kind of routine to help him feel grounded until he could fall back asleep.

It was Bruce at the door instead. He looked tight enough to snap, panting, fists clenched. "Bruce?" I questioned blearily as I let him in, "Bruce, what time is it?" I shut the door behind him.

"They're driving me crazy!" His entire body was shaking.

"Wha... Bruce, what's going on?"

Suddenly, he was right there. Inches away, I could see the blotches of greenish tint, like old bruises bubbling up and fading, veins popping out, eyes screwed shut like he was in pain. "Bruce?" I was fully awake now, "Bruce, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Please... please help me. He wants out. He wants out, I can't..."

I looked up briefly. "JARVIS, don't throw a Code Green or disturb us unless I tell you." I looked back at the man in front of me. "Bruce, look at me." He finally did and I saw chocolate brown and emerald green swirling like storm clouds, fighting for dominance. He was angry, frustrated, sad, but over it all was this blanket of fear. I didn't know if it was the usual fear of not knowing what would happen if he lost control, but he hadn't gone to the safe room, he'd come to me. Was he afraid I'd send him back there, that I'd reject him after he'd come to me for help?

"Bruce, just tell me if this isn't okay." And I flung my arms around his neck, hugging him with every ounce of strength I had. He froze, like I'd sucker punched him, slightly stooped from suddenly taking my weight, holding his breath. "Bruce, I've got you. I'm here."

He exhaled roughly and then suddenly pulled me up against him in a fierce embrace, arms fully around my waist, practically lifting me off my feet, burying his face in the bend of my neck. His breath felt hot against my chest and down the front of my tank, his chest heaving against me. His arms squeezed me so tight I was waiting for my back to pop, his hands and fingers digging and gripping my sides.

I leaned into him, trying to hold him through his distress. One hand went into the back of his hair, combing with my nails, scratching his scalp lightly and pulling the curls gently with each stroke. I kept whispering reassurances into his ear. That I was with him, I wouldn't let something bad happen, he was safe, they were safe. "I'm right here with you. C'mon, Bruce, breathe with me."

He finally sank with a shuddering sob, never loosening his grip and all I could do was quickly shift my legs wide so I sank to the floor with him, and we landed with him on his knees. I was straddled on his lap, molded together against him, his breath gradually slowing. I just kept breathing, slow and even, hoping he would keep trying to match his breath and heart rate to mine. I knew he could feel my pulse, as tightly as our chests were pressed together, as snuggly as his face was fitted along my neck. I knew he could hear and feel my deep, slow breaths against his ear and down his neck. I kept petting him as he came back to himself until I finally heard him mutter against my neck. "I'm sorry."

I tried to pull back a little, but his embrace was still relentless, the tension in his hands conveying how on the edge he still felt. "Bruce, please look at me."