“I died, it was Loki. He killed me.” Her voice shook, the whisper rasping in her throat. “Don’t let him hurt me.” She forced her breathing to slow, but it felt like she was being suffocated again. The little, rational part of her brain knew it hadn’t been Loki, that their lover would never hurt her unless they arranged for it beforehand — and especially not like that.“Tony, Tony, I — ” She sobbed, sharply, and caught her breath again, burrowing into his arms like she could climb inside his skin and be safe. ” — I set off the inferno.”
“Loki would never hurt you,” he assured her, though at that point it was more like he was talking to the top of her head and her hair.
He wasn’t even entirely sure what she was talking about. Inferno? What inferno? But for that moment at least, he passed it off as panicked, half-awake rambling (after all, he’s said much stranger things in similar situations). “You’re safe.” And then, so they aren’t still sitting there in the dark, “Jarvis, lights.”
His confusion seemed to slide along her skin, but the reassuring warmth of him, arms and heart, helped to ease some of the panic. Abruptly the sheer adrenaline rush devolved into nausea, and she flailed off the bed, hitting one knee hard on the floor, and stumbled into the bathroom.
Just the smell there made it worse, and she heaved, and again, until there was nothing left except a sour taste in her mouth and the rasp of her own breathing. Involuntary tears trickled down her face.