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It was a rough night. Sarah had been pulled awake at the sound of the door to the room being opened and closed. In the minuscule amount of light in the bedroom, she could barely make out the outline of one very tired, very drunk man. Long ago they'd found that James's silence only lasted when he was sober. She said nothing, already starting to lay back down, and neither did he. The only noise that came from him was the rustle of him undressing and the muted thud of his heavy belt buckle hitting the floor through his jeans. The shuffle of bare feet got closer and she could hear him sigh deeply.
The bed shifted as he laid down, followed by the intense warmth of his bare skin against hers, his arms snaking around her protectively. Maybe even possessively. He was a rather territorial man. She could feel his hot, whiskey tinted breath slow down against the back of her neck, and within moments Jim was drifting off, his breathing heavy. Sarah didn't care much for those nights he spent out late with Sam or Jack or Alex, usually drinking himself silly and flirting his way through a bar at one point or another. She didn't like him staying out late without her, and was only a little fearful he'd meet up with Felicia Hardy or some kind of girl and forget to come home back to her. But at least when he came home (and he always came home, only ever smelling of smoke and alcohol, never perfume) he slept soundly. Occasionally she would wake up before he did and Sarah would have to motivate her giant of a boyfriend out of bed. It beat the alternative.
That was the making of an ugly night.
It was becoming more and more rare, but some nights she would still wake up in the middle of the night alone, Jim's side of the bed wet with sweat, sometimes the sheets torn, once with one of his prized vibranium knives driven hilt deep into the nightstand and the other embedded in the wall. It had taken her twenty minutes that night to pry them out of furniture while Jim sat over a cup of tea, his hands trembling.
The first time she'd discovered the night terrors he had, she'd panicked with his disappearance, only to find him, still fully clothed, in the shower. The water was on cold and stained his dark skin bright red, shaking and looking like he expected her be an assassin. With his knees pulled up to his chest, both hand clutched around his blades, his wet hair and clothes clinging to him, Jim's usually massive form had looked small and fragile. He'd stared at her, his dark eyes wide and glazed over and neither of them had said a word when she shut the water off and taken the knives out of his fearful grip, quietly reassuring him that he was safe. It had been the closest to crying Sarah had ever seen Jim be. It had only been when she had stood that he took her hands and begged her.
"Don't go."
He was more careful now when he woke up in the middle of the night, and when she woke up, she could usually find him sitting in a windowsill, staring over the moonlit grounds for hours before he would slide back into bed with her. He'd kiss her and tell her he was fine, soothing her mind with either lies or half-truths he genuinely believed.
Even rarer were the nights when he wouldn't be shocked into consciousness. She would feel him flinch and twitch before he would gasp as if he was drowning. Even when she would shake him awake, sooth him back into the real world, she could feel his heart hammer in his chest like an animal trying to burst from a cage. Once he had mentioned that he had fought for his life from John, and she had a sick feeling that the nights he spent choking and gasping were the nights that his brother haunted his mind. Jim warned her against waking him up, nervous that he would strike out against her, but he worried too much. Sarah didn't believe he would hurt her, no matter how much he fretted over it. It seemed to be a common trait amongst those with super strength and she understood to a point. He had broken several couches by gripping the woodwork inside too hard. While he would occasionally leave her with bruises from when he got... Excited when they got it on, she had never felt that he would actually cause her any harm.
So she would take this drunken, late night adventure over his fears. At least when he was drunk or absolutely spent, she didn't worry about him. He found peace then. As Sarah shifted once under his arms that night, James pulled her back against him and she felt his lips graze her neck, the feeling of his unshaven face gently scratching against her before he drifted off again. He was indeed a high maintenance man and he'd asked her before how she put up with his restless nights.
He'd warned her about his moody, bad attitude, his paranoid thoughts or bouts of depression. He'd cautioned her that he drank too much and probably was oversexed, that he didn't know how to talk about his feelings and that he felt like he wasn't enough for her. But he hadn't warned her that if she ever loved him, he would love her back with a ferocity he saved for fighting. That he would spend nights happily just listening to her, or watching her work in her various projects. he didn't understand always, but he always looked at them as if they were massively important to him. That he would cuddle with her after sex with the biggest, stupidest puppy dog smile pasted on his rugged features. And that was worth restless nights.