Re: log, Harlem: Selina K/Steve R
[There was a mantra beating its drum in her mind, steady on. Steve could see the moment of stick to skin, the firm rope of will tethering the woman to the ground as it stood, as it really stood, beneath her feet. He could tell she was doing something, saying something to remind herself that whatever she was seeing wasn't real. He'd witnessed a flicker of the selfsame flame in Bucky's eyes.—He only hoped this encounter turned out better than that one.
Steve breathed again, a quiet hiss through teeth he hadn't known he clenched, when Selina took that step forward and began to unarm herself. He remained as still as he could, not wanting to startle her, even through the simple release of tension from the rod of shoulders.
He let his hand holding the tube come back to his side.] Always so practical. [The teasing came with heart. Steve understood the vital importance of morale. He bolstered it with as many props as he could, uncaring for however ramshackle it made his attempts appear. This wasn't the time for consistency—not in that way, anyway. He would smile or he would be serious, whatever the next second called for, whatever might oil the wheels of reality that spun in Selina's mind.]
You should sleep. After this. Do you want the address to Sharon's? She's not home.