gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

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.

Tony rolled to the side and stood up once his feet were back on the floor.  Grabbing the glass that was sitting on the bedside table, he followed Summer to the bathroom, filled the glass at the sink, and set it on the edge of the counter closest to her.

He leaned in the bathroom doorway, shoulder against the frame, until she’s ready to come out of the bathroom.

One shaking hand, cold with the aftermath of blood rush, grasped the glass, and Summer lifted it to her mouth, trying not to shake so hard she spilled it. It took both hands after a moment, and then she relaxed back against the cabinetry. “Sorry,” she muttered, “sorry.”

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

“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.

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

She turned her face into his hand, still caught in the edges of sleep. She felt damp and dizzy and her eyes wouldn’t work right. “I died. Oh, god.” Her voice went rough, and then she was shaking, adrenaline-driven terror gripping her guts and shortening her breath. It felt as if something heavy was sitting on her chest, as if all the oxygen was removed from the air she gasped at.

Summer curled into a ball, trying to still the tremors racking her muscles, but that just made it worse. Now there was nothing at her back, and irrationally she felt sure someone was behind her, waiting to stab.

“You’re fine, no one’s going to hurt you.”  He dropped back onto the mattress, so he could curl both arms around her, pulling her close.

He didn’t…know how to fix this.  He had never been the most comforting person (given his own nightmares, one would think he would be better at it in this case).  Could he even fix this?  Whatever.  He stroked one hand through her hair and all but tucked her under his chin as he shifted.  “It’s just me, and it’s just the bedroom.  Our bedroom.”

“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.”

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild replied to your post:

It’s his voice. Summer held on to it like a lifeline, dragging herself up out of the clutches of the dream — nightmare, really. “I’m dead,” she gasped, groping for something to hold on to.

“You’re not dead, you’re just fine,” he replied quietly, cupping her face with one hand.  “It was a dream.  You’re okay.”  As if in demonstration, he patted his other hand against the mattress.  “See?  Still in bed.”

She turned her face into his hand, still caught in the edges of sleep. She felt damp and dizzy and her eyes wouldn’t work right. “I died. Oh, god.” Her voice went rough, and then she was shaking, adrenaline-driven terror gripping her guts and shortening her breath. It felt as if something heavy was sitting on her chest, as if all the oxygen was removed from the air she gasped at.

Summer curled into a ball, trying to still the tremors racking her muscles, but that just made it worse. Now there was nothing at her back, and irrationally she felt sure someone was behind her, waiting to stab.