HUNTED ~ STEVE ROGERS [2]

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I tossed and turned that night. Tasha was curled up beside me like a cat, all curved limbs and hair over her face. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see Monique's mad driven face behind my eyelids. Rebekah was still out there, and I knew she would return to finish what she started. When, I didn't know.

Ever since Tractor Hill, my nightmares had gotten worse. Sometimes I woke up with blood under my fingernails, and I discovered I had scratched myself in my sleep, deep pink welts all over my arms.

It was a mixture of things. We all had PTSD from New York, although it was worse for Tony. We never talked about what happened when he went through the portal, but I could see in his eyes it took a big toll on him.

For Steve, it had been 2 weeks out of the ice and he was forced into another war. War, it seemed, was something he couldn't live without, and that's why he chose to stay. But sometimes he had nightmares too. He didn't scream or cry like I did. Rather, he was frozen, eyes wide and skin white, unable to stop the horrors in his mind.

Bruce kept mostly to himself. He was quiet, and kind, but turning Hulk always took a toll on him, both physically and mentally.

Thor was probably doing ok, although we couldn't know for sure, since I hadnt seen him for a while. War didn't seem to bother him much. I guess it was an Asgardian thing.

Clint had gone off for some personal leave just before D.C, but I knew Tasha had been in contact with him. For the both of them, war and fighting was way of life, and they had learnt to bury the anxiety and depression that came with it.

Me, not so much.

By the time morning came, I'd hardly slept. I knew Tasha was aware of my restlessness, as she was a light sleeper, but she didn't say anything about last night. Or any of the other nights, in fact.

Our bags were packed in the corner, and when I got up, I pulled a few items of clothing from the top and slipped them on, making sure to be quiet so Tasha would stay asleep. It was still dark, about 7:30am, and the rest of the house was dark and still. I lit a cigarette, the flame lighting up the dark for a moment, and then all that was left was smoke and the smell of it on my skin. I breathed in the chemicals, feeling the rush in my veins. To anyone looking over the fence, they would be startled by the sight of me. The bright green eyes, piercing the night. The glow of the cigarette, the shadows the smoke made on my face as it swirled around me. In a way, I hated smoking. Sure, the rush was good but the fact I almost depended on it made me hate it. Tony had said he would try and find another way for me to get energy faster, but he was too busy with other things to do the research on it. I guess I could inject myself with poison. That kind of energy lasted longer and was more potent, but I was wary of needles and avoided them as much as I could.

Steve was the one who made me aware of how much I depended on the filthy things. I had asked him why he looked disappointed whenever I smoked them around him, because didn't everyone smoke in the 40s? He had laughed, and said he didn't hate the cigarettes, only the fact I was dependant on them. He said little things like that, that made me think he did care about me. I guess it worked both ways. I always made sure he ate, because I knew sometimes he didn't, and he made sure I went to sleep at a reasonable time, because he knew sometimes I would stay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and wondering why. I helped him train, he taught me to draw. It was small things like that, caring for each other that said everything we couldn't with our mouths; that we cared, and we wouldnt ever stop.

That was how I fell in love with him. It wasn't the strong, 'saving the world' Steve I fell in love with. It was a soft, kind, shy Steve, who had trouble with Google and sometimes needed help with the microwave. He was the one I loved, and the other side of him was just a bonus. He was a tightly wound ball of fight me and I loved it.