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The rhythm of sleep had been kinder to you recently, mind no longer conjuring up night terrors like it used to.
You blamed the absolute exhaustion that now racked your bones after constant missions. That and the enveloping warmth of arms that you could crawl home to every night.
You could feel him against you now—warm breath whispering down the side of your neck, lax arm resting beneath your head, a firm hand curled onto the skin of your stomach. Bob always seemed to fall asleep holding onto you, as if you could vanish between his fingers like sand if he didn’t keep himself tethered. You didn’t mind. He kept you steady.
But for all your peace, the night had pulled you awake. Eyes blinked apart slowly in the darkened room. The shadows felt to be more prominent than usual, hugging up the walls with a desperate intensity. You stared. Bob’s muscles twitched against you.
Instinctively, your fingers slipped to his wrist, thumb sliding against his pulse point. His heart was racing. He spasmed again, an unintelligible collection of words falling from his lips.
You listened—hyperaware of his body’s movements despite being half awake. Quick puffs of air tickled the back of your head, evidence of quickened breathing. Then he began to fidget, fingers digging sharply near the bottom of your ribs.
“Bob,” You murmured, hand jostling against his own.
He didn’t relent. In fact, he quivered.
Vowels escaped his lungs once again. This time it was just one simple word: “…No”. The emotions attached to it were shaken, terrified, a nightmare clawing at the edges of his brain.
Despite his tight hold, you managed to nudge his grip and twist to your other side. Your palm caught his shoulder and shook him gently.
“Bob,” You said again.
Knuckles brushed the frame of his cheek. You could feel the heat radiating off of him. Not the soft warmth you’ve grown familiar with but rather violent and feverish. Whatever was chasing him in his unconsciousness was consuming him whole.
Once more you rocked his shoulder, this time with a little more force. He stirred. Then there was a sound in the back of his throat—a pained one, like a wounded animal.
You sat up for both of your sakes, fumbling with the bedside lamp until it flickered on. It bathed the room in a dull orange. Sweat gleamed on Bob’s forehead.
“Bob,” You called firmly, hand finding its way back to his shoulder. “Bob, you need to wake up.”
You watched the lines of his face contort into panic, your own worry rising. You gave him another shake just as his eyes snapped open with a torn gasp.
He shifted back, trying to find oxygen. You let him go.
“Hey,” You soothed. “You’re alright.”
“I’m…” Bob mumbled, wearily tugging off the sheets and sitting up. “Shit… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” You assured, gaze searching his. “Are you okay?”
He scrubbed his hands across his face, trying to reground himself in reality. “Just another nightmare.”
“I could tell,” You replied softly.
Turning your head back to the table, you saw the red numbers of Bob’s digital alarm clock: 4:02 AM. You absentmindedly wiped away whatever sleep had accumulated in the corner of your eyes.
When you looked back, Bob was sitting with his back to you, his legs swung over his side of the bed. You scooted forward and softly drew a hand up the path of his spine.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked gently.
He tensed ever so slightly. “It was… about you.”
A frown curled its way across your lips. Your fingers rested at the juncture where his shoulder met his arm, lightly squeezing.
“Losing you,” Bob elaborated, words trembling, “because of me.”
You rubbed subtle tender circles against his skin, exhaling your own anxiety. “Sometimes our mind lies to us.”
“It felt real.”
“It wasn’t,” You replied. “Could never be.”
Bob deflated slightly at that. You took the moment of relaxation to lean forward and kiss him delicately on the back of his head. He shuddered, the adrenaline fleeing his body.
You found your feet reaching the hard wood floor of his room, quietly padding over to one of the nearby windows overlooking the city. The sun was slowly beginning to seep into the world—yellow and blue distantly clashing. You slipped the lock out of place and cracked open the window. The crisp morning air flowed in gracefully.
Behind you, Bob tried to collect his bearings. His sweatshirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin, remnants of the bad dream. He shuffled his hands against the fabric of the sleeve. An old habit to keep things from slipping away.
You noticed. The lowered head, the slightly labored breaths, the slight bounce of his knee—all of it was evidence of distress. Even now with his eyes wide open and existence made known.
Wordlessly you opened the drawers of his dresser, pulling out the softest sweatpants you knew he owned.
Bob glanced up, trying to deduce what exactly you were doing. He registered the double pair of boxers you took out, eyes tracking you as you pulled two shirts of his from their hangers. All of it was collected on the top of his dresser in a pile.
He didn’t question you outwardly, he simply let you work.
Faith had lodged its way into his heart. When you moved, you did it with genuine purpose. You navigated his space and handled his belongings with a kind of care he had never known. Whatever was going through your head was just as trustworthy as he found your soul to be.
So when you held out your hand he simply took it.
When you led him to the bathroom he allowed you to steal a sweet kiss from his lips. And when you disappeared to fetch the bundle of clothes he freed himself from his damp sweatshirt without a word.
Bob didn’t dare look in the mirror. It was too early and he was far too anxious to start spiraling now. Glancing at his arms was out of the question too, they were covered in faint scars from needles and other sharp things alike. Everything surrounding him felt to be reasons as to why you deserved better. Giving into it felt to be a sinkhole and he refused to be pulled under.
He found himself staring at a blank spot on the wall as he leaned against the sink. Until your hand sweeping against his bare side comfortingly brought him back down to Earth. You set the clothes down behind him and Bob tried to remember how he had become so lucky.
You leaned into the walk-in shower and twisted the handle, backing up just before the water was able to spray down on you. A slight laugh escaped you. Bob relished the sound.
There was mutual silence as both of you peeled off your respective pajamas. The fog from the condensation began to cover the ceiling and fill in the gaps that would otherwise be filled with talking. The feeling of sleep was still being dragged away.
The idea of a shower was appeasing in more ways than one. It would wash away the burden from Bob’s mind, remove the sweat from his body, and give him a moment to breathe.
So he followed after you, stepping under the hot stream. He traced the water droplets falling down your bare back as you fumbled to set the temperature to a more lukewarm setting. Intimacy that once felt terrifying now seemed natural.
You had both fallen into the routine of simply being closer. A painful crush had turned into mutual liking to a gentle kind of love. The type where Bob could confess his past wounds and you would just listen, quietly promising not to love him any less.
He’d seen you open like a flower beneath him, something he honored each time he was given the privilege. Bob figured he could draw the curves that made you up from memory alone if he really wanted to.
But the level of devotion that he now carried went beyond just physical, his emotions were as intertwined with you as his hands could be upon your skin. That was something completely unknown to him until now.
The current situation was innocent and both of you knew that well enough. Your fingers weaved shampoo through strands of his hair, jokingly scolding him when his face tilted forward and suds fell towards his eyes.
He welcomed the sensations—of the running water, of the soap, of you.
Whatever darkness that had been seeping into Bob’s mind as he slept was fading away now. The whispers of self-deprecation and fear seemed far away now. The smell of eucalyptus encompassed him now. It felt like something close to home.
When you took the washcloth to his chest, his heart stuttered. The marks of memories long past that littered him were visible and yet there was no hesitance in your touch.
Body wash decorated his skin and rinsed off in the overhead flood. You began placing the soap on your own limbs and when Bob caught sight, he gently took the cloth from your hands.
“Let me.”
It was all so simple—the weight of his hand dragging the material against you, the murmur of his words. Yet it felt like everything.
Eventually the both of you stepped out, fluffy towels encircling each of your frames. You pulled on the clothes you had gotten for yourself and dried off the excess droplets from your face.
Bob sighed as he placed the white cotton shirt over his head, feeling snug in his newfound clothing. Contentment reached him as he watched you softly apply lotion.
His arms bound around your waist, head finding purchase against your own. Finally, he willed himself to look into the mirror ahead of him.
All he saw was… himself. And you. Beautiful, inspiring, caring you with that smile on your face as he kissed that spot behind your ear.
It evolved. Suddenly you turned to kiss him fully and he shifted you back towards the sink. He was careful not to let the surface dig into the base of your spine as he held you. Though you could’ve cared less if it was on fire, because he was here and happy and so very kind.
“Thank you,” he whispered against your mouth.
“‘Course,” You responded, breath hitching as his kisses traveled down to your neck.
A chuckle left you as he brushed over your collarbone, the two words he told you being repeated over and over again. You caught him by the jaw and dragged him back to meet you.
“It’ll all be alright, you know?” You said. “It just takes time.”
“Time,” Bob agreed, seeing his reflection grin at you out of the corner of his eye.
There was still heaviness somewhere inside him, but he let it slink away for now. His lips went back to yours and that was really all he cared to focus on.
The movement got a little more hurried. Not any less tender, just quick. Both of your hands cupped the back of his neck to pull him closer, if that was even possible, and Bob let out a slight hum.
His palms found the underside of your thighs, carefully gripping the flesh beneath your boxers—correction, his boxers. The notion made his head spin.
You just barely skimmed the pulse point on his throat and that’s all it took to find yourself sat atop the bathroom sink.
Bob was between the gap of your legs, bracing you against the cool marble. Your fingers carded through strands of his wet hair, the same tuffs you had helped to dye from blonde back to his brunette only months ago. Though that was before either of you had said an inkling about being into the other.
You wondered now if he would have thanked you then the same way as he was now—all lips, hands, and fervor.
His hands had slipped up the back of your shirt, warm palms sending goosebumps flying your back. A kiss landed on your chin and you finally found the means to speak.
“We should make coffee,” You mumbled. “It’s early.”
“Coffee, yeah—that’s…” Bob cleared his throat, pressing one final peck to your cheek before pulling away. “That’s a good idea.”
He carefully lifted you down, the maneuver smooth and easy due to the powers of the Sentry. When your feet hit the ground you brought his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. His pupils were blown wide.
“Come on,” You beckoned, stepping back into the light of his bedroom. “Since there’s no one else up to claim the pot first.”
Sunrise was beginning to pour in through the living room windows. You hit the switch to the kitchen overhead, heading towards the coffee maker nearby.
Bob placed a hand on your shoulder. “I got it.”
When you tried to deny he just shook his head. In a tower full of heroes, he was the only one who refused to use his abilities. So he kept himself busy with other things by means of being helpful. Mundane tasks that didn’t seem to hold as much meaning until he came along.
You knew he wanted to provide, hell—he was asking. You were more than willing to allow him that.
So you made your way to the couch and picked up the remote. Switching off the news channel and finding an early morning cartoon—something lost in both your childhoods.
The coffee machine was gurgling. Its ambience backed Bob as he took two mugs down from the cabinet as the voice of Roger Rabbit quietly filled the room.
He smiled. You caught it just before throwing a blanket around yourself and sinking into the couch cushions.
A few minutes later, Bob wandered over to you, with a steaming cup held firmly in his hand. You took it from him with gratitude and he lowered himself next to you. You curled into the crook of his shoulder without another thought.
It was a little past six when someone else finally made their way into the living quarters. By then you had abandoned your mug taken to sprawling across Bob’s body as you both laid down against the sofa. You lifted your head up from where it had been nestled in his neck, spotting Yelena come out from the hallway.
“Good morning,” You chimed.
“Morning,” she replied through a yawn.
At the sound of both your voices Bob titled his head back to look over the arm of the couch.
“Oh, Bob’s under you,” Yelena remarked, taking a moment to stretch her arms in front of her. “No wonder you’re so giddy.”
Bob’s cheeks flushed at the words, averting his gaze back to the television. “We’re just resting.”
“And I’m just observing,” Yelena shot back. She adjusted the collar of her baggy sleep shirt as she approached the kitchen counter. “Did you two make coffee?”
“It might be cold,” You informed.
“I’ve had worse. Walkers’ brews should be a biohazard.”
You laughed and pressed your cheek to the fabric of Bob’s shirt. He exhaled deeply as you snuggled against his chest. Both of you listened as Yelena filled up her own mug and came over, freehand resting on the back of the couch.
She took an obnoxious sip of her drink. “Are you both just going to lay there all day?”
“It’s only six,” You shrugged, not bothering to look up.
“Yeah but Bob’s got that look in his eyes,” she countered, “like he’s about to fall asleep.”
“I’m content,” Bob said simply.
Your heart warmed.
Yelena gave a considerate hum before strolling away. “If you're sleepy now I hate to see you after training.”
“That’s not until seven,” You groaned. “Leave us to peace.”
There was a distant cackle. “Never.”