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There was sharp pain, and the taste of copper, and then nothing at all.
Natasha gasped as she jolted awake, eyes wide. The room was too dark – it was still the middle of the night, and aside from the time glowing in red numbers she could see nothing. The dark was all-encompassing, surrounding her. She tried to shove the sheets away but they had tangled around her legs, and all at once she felt a horrible sense of panic pass over her.
“Tasha?” a soft voice said from beside her, and the room changed as the lamp next to their bed flipped on. James looked weary, but more concerned than anything as she struggled with the sheets.
“Here,” he said, rolling away from the lamp and towards her. His hands were gentle as they peeled the sheets away, freeing her from the grasp.
Her heartbeat began to slow again, and she dropped her head into her hands, fingers rubbing at her aching temples.
“You alright?” James asked, resting a hand on her shoulder and gently massaging with his thumb. “Bad dream?”
“You have no idea,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands. “Steve was a HYDRA agent.”
“What?” he said, pulling a face. He shifted to sit against the headboard and tugged her in front of him, settling both hands into massaging the tension from her shoulders. “He would never.”
“I know,” she said, “And you died.”
James was silent for a moment, and then he said, “…how?”
“Zemo strapped you to a rocket,” she said, sitting up and turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Again.”
“Unoriginal,” he said, voice monotone, and Natasha snorted.
“And I started a new Red Room to fight Steve,” she said, the ridiculousness of the entire ordeal dawning on her.
“Unrealistic,” James said with a short laugh, “You literally just put an end to the Dark Room, why would you do that?”
“I don’t know,” Natasha said, “And then I died. Steve killed me, and I woke up.”
“Impossible,” he said, wrapping his arms around her middle and dragging a laughing Natasha into his lap. “You’d kick Steve’s ass.” He trailed kisses over her cheeks, the curve of her neck, her shoulders.
She smiled in relief as she leaned back against him. “How do you do that?”
He hummed in question, busying himself nuzzling her throat.
“Make me forget why I was afraid,” she said, turning her head to look at him. “How do you do it?”
He lifted his hand to her cheek in a gentle caress. “We’ve always done that for each other. Some things don’t go away.”
“I think I missed that,” Natasha said, her smile gentle.
James leaned to kiss her, soft and sweet, and tipped their foreheads together. “Think you can go back to sleep?”
“Well…” she said, setting a hand on his thigh. “If we’re awake anyway…”
“Oh, I see,” he said, and with strong arms turned her around so they could face each other. His gaze on her was affectionate, adoring as he slipped his hands under the shirt she’d worn to bed – one of his, oversized and hanging like a dress. (He thought she looked stunning.)
Natasha grinned at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t you think I could use the distraction? I mean, I did just have a pretty bad dream.”
“Honey, you don’t ever have to explain yourself,” James said, and she laughed, the sound light and carefree and beautiful. Choosing not to dwell any longer, they focused instead on the comfort they found in each other, and the dream was left far behind them.