exo7 (ex_exo7637) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-07-01 13:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, sam wilson, steve rogers |
Who: Sam W and Steve
What: Middle of the night talks
Where: Steve's apartment in Stark Tower, NYC
When: Now-ish
Warnings/Rating: IDK? Probably some nightmares/PTSD type talk, but will update specifics if needed.
Sam hadn't known Steve long enough to ever have been to his apartment in Washington, but he had to imagine that it was different than the section of Stark Tower that Steve was able to call his. The personal touches were fewer than he'd expect from the primary place someone lived, and the bed... No, the bed was all wrong, and Sam only knew that because you could only try to battle wills with Captain America for so long before he rolled right over you. The argument had been that Steve didn't sleep much anyway, and that with coming and going, it made more sense for Sam to take the bedroom. There'd been enough eyerolling to fill a teenage quota-level about it, but Sam had finally given in and taken the bedroom. Though more often than not, he found himself stripping the comforter off the bed and laying himself out on the floor with that scant fluff instead of the sucking softness of the mattress. No way Steve had chosen that mattress for himself.
And then Steve had up and disappeared for days on end. Not that Sam needed to be babysat, but it would've been nice to be included in the loop of what the hell was going on. A few days of fight and trauma didn't a deep friendship make for any of them that were involved, but maybe he was a little surprised to be abandoned altogether. But hey, they all had their thing to deal with. He got it. It was why he hadn't bailed back to Washington, holding to the fact that he'd been asked (by both Steve and Natasha) to be in New York. There had to be a reason. So he stayed, in the bedroom with a too soft bed, and he did his best to figure out why he was there. And how to deal with New York in general.
And how to deal with his own demons.
He'd been keeping it under wraps, easy enough when he was mostly left on his own, but maybe the shit with HYDRA hadn't settled as easily on his shoulders as he made it out to be. He kept that smile, kept the center he'd found (with difficulty) after losing Riley and figuring himself out. But it didn't stop him from waking in the night, seeing Steve tossed off the helicarrier, seeing him unresponsive on the bank of the Potomac, hearing the beep of monitors and woosh of machines, feeling the spinning vertigo of falling out of the air. The bed didn't help, sucking him down into the soft cloud of a pillow-top that was cloying and suffocating. Sweat slicked along his skin, and even if he moved to the floor, he knew that he needed a drink before he could get back to sleep. Water, though he didn't deny that something stronger would be nice too.
He opened the door quietly, never knowing if Steve was going to be awake (or even there) in the middle of the night, and not wanting to wake him if he was present and asleep. But the opening of the door brought a soft lamp-glow with it, so Sam didn't try to hide the sounds of his passing through to the kitchen, grabbing a glass, filling it from the tap before drinking it down.