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He wakes with a start, a cry dying in his throat. Instead of fading, the images behind his eyes are still vivid.
Her voice is the first thing he hears. “I love you. You’re safe.” She whispers, her words a soothing balm on his tired, tired soul.
He wipes a hand over his face, not really embarrassed, but feeling a strange type of shame that he can’t voice.
“‘m sorry.” He mumbles.
She doesn’t tell him not to apologize - she doesn’t need to. They’ve been here before.
“Love you too.” He adds, voice earnest. “I’m okay.”
He dreams of that night in Germany at least once a week. It gets worse every time. Some nights he dreams of these men he didn’t even know, the helplessness and stark fear that hit him when he realized what was happening.
Other nights he dreams it’s Gale with him. Gale and Crank and Murph and the rest, and he has to watch as they go down one by one, the terrible bang of a gunshot echoing in his ears long after he wakes.
Ellie is always right there, right there with a soothing word and a kiss to his sweaty brow. She has never once asked him what he dreams about, and she never tells him it’s all going to be okay. She tells him she loves him instead, and he fights the little voice in his head that screams you don’t deserve her over and over again.
The worst part of all of this is that the dreams get worse when he sees the guys, when Gale and Marge come to visit or when Benny stops by on his way through town.
It takes everything he has not to shut himself away, to do what he’s always done and isolate himself after drinking himself to sleep.
So they escaped to Manitowoc, seeking a safe haven at his childhood home, and still it was impossible.
He scared his mother half to death as he lurched awake in the middle of the night, wishing like hell he had asked Ellie to abandon decorum and sleep in his bedroom with him.
He had begged her to go to a hotel with him the next night, refusing to give his mother any more to worry about, anxious to get away from the wary, scared glances from his sisters. He knows they don’t pity him, but he doesn’t know what to tell them and they don’t know what to say.
Now, he sits up in bed, head in his hands as he tries to catch his breath. His heart rate is high but slowing as Ellie leans over and rubs a gentle hand on his back. He shudders under her touch.
“Come with me,” She says softly, taking his hand and urging him out of bed.
They pause so she can pull her robe over her shoulders, and she hands him the matching one from the hook by the bed. When they’re both ready, she takes his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Silently, they both head for the door, Ellie leading the way and John closing it softly behind them. They booked a hotel right on Lake Michigan and Ellie is grateful for it now as they sink their feet into the cool sand.
Bucky squeezes her hand again as they walk. “Thank you.” He says quietly. He sighs as the cool lake breeze hits him. “Did I scare you?”
“No.” Her answer is quick, definitive.
“I know I keep you awake some nights.”
“But it’s not your fault. And it doesn’t scare me. I just wish I could make things better for you.”
He looks down at her quickly, eyes going back to his feet as he schools his expression - he’s still not used to her wanting to take care of him. “You do make things better. Just by being here, you do.”
She hugs his arm close, squeezing his hand and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
“Can we just… can we just sit here for a while?” He asks, and it’s so plaintive, she can’t deny him, can’t push him to be more vulnerable.
So they sit in the sand, they watch the waves come rolling in, and she leans her head on his broad shoulder and she scoots closer, feels the kiss he presses to the crown of her head.
This ache inside of him won’t go away. Maybe not ever. He knows that, doesn’t need a doctor or anyone else to confirm what he already knows - he lost a piece of himself in the stalag, the piece of him that was halfway dead the minute they tried to kill him on a city street in Germany. Hell, maybe even before then, as he watched crew after crew go down.
Whether she knows it or not, Ellie has already helped him tremendously. She saved his life. The nights he doesn’t have nightmares, he dreams of her. Of her and the life they’ll have together, as soon as he gathers his courage and asks her the damn question.
“We should go see your family.” He blurts, voice rough.
She frowns. “Won’t that—“ Won’t that make it worse? She doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s understood anyway, hanging in the air between them.
“It would be nice to get out of the city for a while.”
Ellie hums. “Are you asking me to run away with you?”
“I think we already did that part.” His voice is low with laughter. He leans in, nose ghosting over the shell of her ear. He presses a kiss there, where her ear meets her neck, and inhales the subtle sweet scent of her, perfume lingering from the day.
She turns towards him and they hover there in the in between, their breath mingling and growing heavier as they delight in being this close, finding comfort in the warmth radiating off each other.
“I’d go anywhere with you, John Egan.”
He kisses her then, a little more feverishly than he intended, but he can’t help himself, not when she’s here and she’s looking at him like that, and she loves him.