displaced.

au canon divergent captain atom of dc. mutuals only, read about before following.

[captain-atoma]

split-the-atom‌:

She can see the confusion written in his face, and maybe it’s too soon for her to be getting into all the details of it when the two of them together can’t even form a real sentence. So she just settles for wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing his head down against her chest, a hand against his scalp, running through his messy hair. Tears slip down her face, nearly dripping down onto his head before she rubs at her face with her sleeve.

“There wasn’t a body, Nat,” she murmurs against his head, her voice small and breaking. Her other arm wraps around his shoulders, fingers digging in gently, desperate to keep him as close as possible. “I didn’t die, it all happened in the blink of an eye– I was there and now I’m here.”

Her grip tightens around him, an edge too strong, but borne out of love. He sounds so miserable, and it only takes a few seconds to look around for her to see he hasn’t been taking good care of himself.

Why would he? The kids are gone, wrapped up in their own lives, and Goz is God only knows where, and Angela’s family might all be dead now for all she knew. And Nate hadn’t remarried. He wasn’t a creature meant for solitude.

No one really was, but especially not her Nat.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs into his head, a stupid promise but one she can’t help making in the face of his grief. “I’m not going to die again. I promise.”

Nate accepts being pulled down into that embrace, accepts her hands running through his hair, and for a moment it’s almost like way back when, when he was young and stupid and she was young and lonely and they were the only two people in the world who were looking out for one another. And in that moment all the years melt away, the lines disappear from his face–his hair’s all brown again, instead of the salt-and-peppered look it’s been taking on as of late.

“I don’t want this to be a dream, Angel,” He stares up, leaning close to her and too afraid to close his eyes, lest he open them only for her to be gone again. “I don’t wanna wake up an’ have this be all in my head.” His own voice is equally muted, as he pulls himself tighter on the couch, closer to her, listening to her heartbeat with his ear pressed to her chest.

She got stronger, he notices, somewhere in the back of his mind. More muscle tone. He wonders when in that twenty years that happened, if she had really been asleep or gone or..disappeared, or something else entirely.

[split-the-atom-blog1]

He always seems to fit so perfectly into her, even now when he’s older and a bit wider and she’s still almost the same as she was twenty years ago. She tucks her chin in, kissing his forehead, between his eyebrows and down the proud line of his nose. Her fingers trail his jaw, soft and gentle, bitten nails raking the stubble that decorates his chin. 

“It’s not a dream.” This is a promise she can make, with all her being, something she knows is as true as the sun coming up each morning. Angela holds his cheek in her hand, tipping his head up to look in his eyes again. Those haven’t changed-- maybe the rest of him has more mileage, has aged like bourbon, but his eyes are the same. Still full of life.

“I swear it’s not a dream. Feel this,” and she takes his hand, pressing his palm over her heart, still beating strong and ostensibly human even if some parts of her aren’t anymore. “That’s real. I promise. I’m real.”

[captain-atoma]

split-the-atom‌:

She’s gladly hanging onto him just as tightly as he’s hanging on to her, an arm wrapped around his neck and her face tucked into the side of his neck. She can feel the force of his sobs against her chest and every one is like a stab through her heart, the weight of his pain heavy on her shoulders. Twenty years went by in a blink for her, but Nate had to time-travel the old fashioned way, one single lonely second at a time.

“I didn’t– the accident,” she stutters out, the story coming out in disjointed bits and pieces in her desperate need to try and soothe his anguish. “It didn’t kill me, it– it transported me, that’s why they never found anything of my– my body..” She stops to wipe at her face furiously, looking away and giving an almighty sniff. “I don’t remember anything before I went to see W– General Eiling, and then I was.. back at the base..”

Angela stops again, blinking and heaving a great sigh, her hands coming up to cup Nate’s face. Gentle thumbs wipe at his tears, taking the edge of his bathrobe to wipe his chin where they threaten to drip. Her lower lip trembles again, the moment of composure gone. “I’m so sorry, Nat. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to leave you, I shouldn’t have.. Gone off and..” She smashes the back of her palm into her mouth and turns away, her shoulders shaking.

His mind is a dizzy jumble of emotion, and none of this makes any sense to him. He can’t put it together in his head, the pieces–Angela was gone, and now she’s here. Back with only silver shining hair to show with it. Like she had been cut out the book of time and stuck back in at a later page, while Nate had to climb every mountainous paragraph and run-on sentence to get back to her.

He remembers hearing about the accident, being overseas, getting an honorable discharge because of his knee–and running and limping his way back to his kids being all alone, confused, and Angela being gone from his life in an instant. Those horrible moments where he thought he’d lose them, too, if not for Goz’ help and Eiling’s supervision. The long game of raising kids on your own when your other half had left you behind, when you were supposed to do it together. The pieces she left behind.

She’s talking about transporting, and something about Eiling–but none of it is clear to him, and he can form no picture of the events in his head.

And here he is, in his bathrobe, unshaven, bloodshot-eyes, and pale and thicker around the stomach and maybe even with thinning hair, crying his eyes out as he holds her like she’s the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Said there weren’t nothin’ left o’ you, that w-we’d never find y’..” He brushes his hand through her hair, pulling it out of her face so can at least see a little bit of it, even with her turned away.

She looks so sad, so tired… she looks how he feels, and that can’t be right, because this is supposed to be a miracle. Her back in his sight, where he can touch her and hear her and feel her smooth skin on his rough palms.

So why does it hurt so bad?

[split-the-atom-blog1]

She can see the confusion written in his face, and maybe it's too soon for her to be getting into all the details of it when the two of them together can't even form a real sentence. So she just settles for wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing his head down against her chest, a hand against his scalp, running through his messy hair. Tears slip down her face, nearly dripping down onto his head before she rubs at her face with her sleeve.

"There wasn't a body, Nat," she murmurs against his head, her voice small and breaking. Her other arm wraps around his shoulders, fingers digging in gently, desperate to keep him as close as possible. "I didn't die, it all happened in the blink of an eye-- I was there and now I'm here."

Her grip tightens around him, an edge too strong, but borne out of love. He sounds so miserable, and it only takes a few seconds to look around for her to see he hasn't been taking good care of himself.

Why would he? The kids are gone, wrapped up in their own lives, and Goz is God only knows where, and Angela's family might all be dead now for all she knew. And Nate hadn't remarried. He wasn't a creature meant for solitude.

No one really was, but especially not her Nat.

"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs into his head, a stupid promise but one she can't help making in the face of his grief. "I'm not going to die again. I promise."

[split-the-atom-blog1]

He’s warm, and solid, and while his voice is deeper and more matured than she remembers it’s still the same. Her eyes are lost in his, pale green meeting wide brown, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks as Nate cups her face. His hand is warm– rougher than hers, but warm, and living, and God it feels like it’s been a hundred years since he’s touched her like that. 

“It’s a really long story,” she whispers, unable to conjure up any volume. It’s hard enough to stay upright on her feet like this. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been in his uniform, shoes shined and hair slicked back. The kids were at either side of her, and Peggy had cried all over Angela’s dress.

It feels like a hundred years ago and only yesterday, simultaneously. She can’t help the soft noise that rushes out of her when Nate crushes her to his chest. Angela tucks her mouth into his neck, wrapping his arms around him, desperate to get as close to him as humanly possible. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby,” she blurts out into his shoulder, her back rising and falling in stuttering breaths, her sobs only halfway stifled. She kicks away the shards of the coffee cup and pulls away to lead Nate into the house a little, her foot pushing the door shut. 

“It’s– it’s been so long– I didn’t– mean to,” Angela stammers out, so many things crowding her throat at once that it’s hard to speak. “I never meant to leave you, I–”

[captain-atoma]

He holds her desperately close, his own shoulders shaking despite his firm hold. His knees feel like they’re going to go right out from under him, but he stumbles along with her further inside, half carrying and half tugging her to the couch so they can collapse together. He lets out a shaky gasp of a breath, inhaling back through his nose, smelling her hair and her sweet shampoo.

He makes it back to the couch, with Angela firm in his grip, holding her so close that they’re nearly blended together into one being. He wants to know how, how she’s back, looking the same, like not a single moment passed since he’s deployed.

“Twenty,” he gasped, burying his face in her hair and gulping in air between hot and heavy sobs. “Twenty whole years n’ I thought you were dead–how ain’t you dead?”

[split-the-atom-blog1]

She's gladly hanging onto him just as tightly as he's hanging on to her, an arm wrapped around his neck and her face tucked into the side of his neck. She can feel the force of his sobs against her chest and every one is like a stab through her heart, the weight of his pain heavy on her shoulders. Twenty years went by in a blink for her, but Nate had to time-travel the old fashioned way, one single lonely second at a time.

"I didn't-- the accident," she stutters out, the story coming out in disjointed bits and pieces in her desperate need to try and soothe his anguish. "It didn't kill me, it-- it transported me, that's why they never found anything of my-- my body.." She stops to wipe at her face furiously, looking away and giving an almighty sniff. "I don't remember anything before I went to see W-- General Eiling, and then I was.. back at the base.."

Angela stops again, blinking and heaving a great sigh, her hands coming up to cup Nate's face. Gentle thumbs wipe at his tears, taking the edge of his bathrobe to wipe his chin where they threaten to drip. Her lower lip trembles again, the moment of composure gone. "I'm so sorry, Nat. I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to leave you, I shouldn't have.. Gone off and.." She smashes the back of her palm into her mouth and turns away, her shoulders shaking.

[split-the-atom-blog1]

He’s warm, and solid, and while his voice is deeper and more matured than she remembers it’s still the same. Her eyes are lost in his, pale green meeting wide brown, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks as Nate cups her face. His hand is warm-- rougher than hers, but warm, and living, and God it feels like it’s been a hundred years since he’s touched her like that. 

“It’s a really long story,” she whispers, unable to conjure up any volume. It’s hard enough to stay upright on her feet like this. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been in his uniform, shoes shined and hair slicked back. The kids were at either side of her, and Peggy had cried all over Angela’s dress.

It feels like a hundred years ago and only yesterday, simultaneously. She can’t help the soft noise that rushes out of her when Nate crushes her to his chest. Angela tucks her mouth into his neck, wrapping his arms around him, desperate to get as close to him as humanly possible. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby,” she blurts out into his shoulder, her back rising and falling in stuttering breaths, her sobs only halfway stifled. She kicks away the shards of the coffee cup and pulls away to lead Nate into the house a little, her foot pushing the door shut. 

“It’s-- it’s been so long-- I didn’t-- mean to,” Angela stammers out, so many things crowding her throat at once that it’s hard to speak. “I never meant to leave you, I--”

[split-the-atom-blog1]

@captain-atom

It’s been nineteen years, four months and now two weeks since the last time Angela saw her children in the flesh. Almost twenty years now, and they’ve grown into fine adults, Randall in the Air Force and Margaret taking a year off from her journalism degree. 

By all rights, they should still be children. They should be young enough to fit in her lap. 

General Eiling won’t let her see them. He says it’s been twenty years since she’s supposed to have died, and the shock of it would disrupt their lives too much. He says that she ought to move on and love them from afar.  They’ve given her a new identity to top it off, too– she doesn’t like to say it, doesn’t have a good track record with people picking out names for her, and in her heart of hearts she’s still Mrs. Adams even if the wedding ring is long gone now. 

And Nate.. God, her poor husband, it doesn’t seem like he’s got anyone right now, anybody at all, and she can’t understand why. It doesn’t feel good, to have to essentially stalk her own husband, and maybe he’s starting to realize a strange woman in sunglasses seems to show up to a lot of places he’s at– but she can’t stay away. She can’t. He just looks so goddamn lonely. 

Which is why she’s lingering in front of his door at six in the morning, as if that’s a reasonable time to knock on anybody’s door, but her only chance of doing this without Eiling finding out is at odd hours. Slowly, gently, she pulls off the scarf wrapped around her hair, letting it fall free. Still the same shape and texture, if not the same color. She tucks the sunglasses into the neck of her dress, sucks a breath in, and hesitates. 

Then she knocks against the door, four times deliberately.

[captain-atoma]

Four thunks against the front door… Nate almost wonders if he’s dreaming it, as he blearily blinks himself back into full consciousness, shuffling about his kitchen like a half-dead man and clutching at his coffee. Or maybe even an undead one. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, squinting, and approaches the door.

Nathaniel Adams had been terribly lonely as of late. He wasn’t one to expect many guests, though he had a few precious friends, and certainly none that would show up unannounced. His children were grown, with lives of their own, pursuing college and careers that left him horribly proud and completely isolated, hearing from them with the occasional phone call and maybe, maybe even a holiday visit.

As far as he knew, Peggy and Randy were both busy, and Goz was stationed on some top secret government business–something Nate had long lost any clearance for. His ties to the Air Force were loose now, save for General Eiling–a man he owed a great deal to, which was something he was beginning to regret.

So he’s cautious as he opens the door, wary as he wonders what kind of trouble-maker could be up at this horribly early and terribly late hour, the cusp between Nate’s sleeping and waking times.

Whatever he’s expecting, it’s not this. The cooling coffee in his last good mug drops to the floor, a resounding crack as it spills liquid between his socked feet and puddles on the hardwood around him. His jaw has gone slack, his expression dumbfounded–shocked, even, and he pales.

It’s like seeing a ghost, and it’s making him dizzy, and he can’t think straight–all he can do is clack his teeth shut and mouth for a few moments before he remembers how to speak again, like a person.

“Angela?”

Is he swaying on his feet? Perhaps just a little. The walls are closing in on him as his gaze lays transfixed at the figure before him.

[split-the-atom-blog1]

Her heart is set to leap out of her chest with how wildly it’s beating, and Angela’s wringing her hands so hard her knuckles crack, fingertips white as the door swings open-- and there he is. Close enough to touch, to wrap her arms around and hold, but she doesn’t do it yet, and she takes a half-step back when he drops his coffee.

Oh, god, how long has it been since she’s seen him in person? Longer than it’s been since the last time she saw their babies; he was off fighting and she was taking care of the children. This is the only part of her life that seems to match up with how long it’s actually been. So long, now, that she’s forgotten what it feels like to have him in her arms. 

And he’s still as handsome as he’s ever been-- salt-and-peppered, with a little extra weight around his middle, but it all adds to his appeal. Her expression brightens, hands reaching out for him as the color falls from his face. 

Oops. Maybe she should have seen this part coming. 

“Nat,” Angela gasps out, grabbing onto his robe by its lapels to try and keep him upright, or at least to make sure he doesn’t hit his head. Her grip is strong enough to hold him, now, versus before, but she’s careful with it, careful not to use too much. She doesn’t want to scare him off. 

“It’s me. It’s me, Nat, I’m back, I’m.. so sorry, are you--?”

[split-the-atom-blog1]

@captain-atom

It’s been nineteen years, four months and now two weeks since the last time Angela saw her children in the flesh. Almost twenty years now, and they’ve grown into fine adults, Randall in the Air Force and Margaret taking a year off from her journalism degree. 

By all rights, they should still be children. They should be young enough to fit in her lap. 

General Eiling won’t let her see them. He says it’s been twenty years since she’s supposed to have died, and the shock of it would disrupt their lives too much. He says that she ought to move on and love them from afar.  They’ve given her a new identity to top it off, too-- she doesn’t like to say it, doesn’t have a good track record with people picking out names for her, and in her heart of hearts she’s still Mrs. Adams even if the wedding ring is long gone now. 

And Nate.. God, her poor husband, it doesn’t seem like he’s got anyone right now, anybody at all, and she can’t understand why. It doesn’t feel good, to have to essentially stalk her own husband, and maybe he’s starting to realize a strange woman in sunglasses seems to show up to a lot of places he’s at-- but she can’t stay away. She can’t. He just looks so goddamn lonely. 

Which is why she’s lingering in front of his door at six in the morning, as if that’s a reasonable time to knock on anybody’s door, but her only chance of doing this without Eiling finding out is at odd hours. Slowly, gently, she pulls off the scarf wrapped around her hair, letting it fall free. Still the same shape and texture, if not the same color. She tucks the sunglasses into the neck of her dress, sucks a breath in, and hesitates. 

Then she knocks against the door, four times deliberately.

[split-the-atom-blog1]

angela is curvy-buff, in that way where she’s got muscle and then a soft layer of fat over it. she likes being strong and weightlifts once or twice a week, especially as the kids get older and can watch themselves. the security of knowing she can beat the shit out of any threat that comes near her family (esp if it somehow manages to get through nate) is a big part of her happiness and mental stability. also her ass is KILLER

[split-the-atom-blog1]

Her face tilts away from his hand, an eye squinting slightly in a slight wince. That’s going to be rather ugly tomorrow, but that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Angela; tonight’s is rather focused on Nate, and also the way the bed seems to gently cup her weary frame in all the right places. 

“I was in a few dust-ups,” she murmurs, pale green eyes falling to some point around Nate’s collarbone. That’s putting it rather dearly understated, but Nate can read all about it tomorrow in the paper; the tale is too long and convoluted for this late hour. “Don’t worry about me, Nat. Nothing some rest can’t fix.”

She wiggles into his chest, moving down so she can tuck her face into his neck, an arm thrown over him. Somehow despite constantly seeking heat as if he’s freezing cold, Nat is blessedly warm, and it lulls her towards the idea of slipping under the covers. She lets out a humming groan at the idea of the pork chops, her head tilting up a little. 

“Oh, no,” she sighs. “You know what I had for dinner? A peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a vending machine.” She huffs a tired laugh. “Did you save any?”

[captain-atoma]

“You think I’d make yer favorite meal n’ not save any for ya?” He tucks his chin on her head, holding her close and gently. Tomorrow he’s making her spend a little time off, no matter what. She’s earned it. She’s tired, and wearing down–he can tell, so he speaks soft and sweet like he always does with their late nights, holding her gently and squeezing his arm that’s cradling her.

“I saved y’ some. Y’ can have ‘em for breakfast t’morrow, and I won’t tell nobody that Captain Atom likes leftover pork chops first thing in the morning.” Not that he’s planning on waking her up first thing–no, he fully intends to let her sleep in as late as she likes. 

Though weariness and leftover sleepiness tugs at his mind, he wants to stay awake a little longer. Every moment with Angela is precious, especially every moment between the action. She’s so busy these days, always fighting the good fight–and he’s proud of her, and proud to be with her, but damn if he doesn’t worry.

[split-the-atom-blog1]

“I get one cheat day a week, it might as well be tomorrow,” she murmurs into the hollow of his throat, kissing his adam’s apple for good measure. He’s such a warm, solid weight, and she finally burrows herself under the covers with a happy, soft sigh. She presses her ear to Nate’s chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull her into relaxation.

Coming home to Nate every night and sinking into his arms is better than any soothing balm. The slow, steady drum of his heartbeat coaxes hers to slow down and match his, despite her own lingering stresses from the day, and somehow he always manages to end up smelling good, too. Maybe it’s his aftershave. 

“Nat,” she sighs after a moment, looking up at him. She can’t see most of his face at this angle, but it’s worth the effort anyways. “Tomorrow you might see a little.. ah.. just ignore the papers, okay?”

[eyesaremosaics]

Georges FOUQUET Art Nouveau Bee Brooch, Paris, France, 1901, Gold and enamel .

[herotting-archive]

[dinopunched-blog]

hatenerd‌:

a shout out to canon divergent blogs .

[split-the-atom-blog1]

it’s not okay! you’re not fine!

“Don’t–” Angela grabs Nate by the lapel of his jacket, her fist shuddering.  “–Don’t raise your voice at me.” People are starting to turn their heads, so she gives Nate’s jacket a yank to signal that he ought to follow if he knows what’s good for him, and then stalks off towards the nearby pantry. 

“Angel--” Nate reaches out and grabs her wrist, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. She turns back to him, ready to yank her wrist out of his hand and snap at him, but the look of worry-- the fear in his eyes-- deflates her righteous anger as easily as popping a hole in a balloon. 

“I can’t stop, not now,” and she slumps with her back to the wall, exhaustion catching up to her. “There’s so much going on, Nat, there’s so much I need to take care of, and I can’t trust anybody else to do it--” 

“It ain’t your responsibility to babysit the whole entire damn world.” Nate grabs her shoulders, and then his hands find a way up to cup her face. She wonders if she feels cold to him, with the armor on, like a machine or a statue. “If things fall apart because you take a day or two off then they weren’t set up that well to begin with and that’s God’s honest truth. You’ve got the JLI, they can afford to get off their asses for a coup’la days so you can rest.”

Damn him, and how absolutely reasonable he is at the worst of times. She’s too tired to form a retort, and more than that she knows in her heart he’s right. Her eyes drop to the ground, only to come back up when Nate tips her chin up with a loving hand. “..A couple of days,” Angela acquiesces, finally, her voice soft. 

[rothelp]

miscellaneous angst starters.

when were you going to tell me?

you can’t keep doing this to yourself.

that’s…a lot of blood.

can you walk?

please don’t lie to me.

you were supposed to leave.

i’m not going anywhere without you.

shh, it’s okay. it was just a dream.

there was nothing more you could have done.

it wasn’t your fault.

this is all my fault.

you aren’t acting like yourself.

i’m never going to let [her/him/them] hurt you again.

you’re hurting me.

don’t ever do that again.

go to hell.

please don’t cry.

you have to stay awake.

i wish i could take the pain away.

you could have died.

hey – stay with me.

it’ll be over soon.

did you ever love me?

i’m sorry. i can’t do this anymore.

things won’t always hurt this bad.

you passed out.

how much have you had?

i’m okay. it’s all fine.

it’s not okay! you’re not fine!

let me get you something for the pain.

it’s nothing. it’s just a bruise.

it’s clearly not nothing.

have you been to the doctor?

i didn’t mean the things i said.

i thought we meant something.

people who are okay don’t act like this.

you don’t have to go through this by yourself.

i don’t want you to be alone.

please don’t regret me.

i heard you crying.

you need to get some rest.

when was the last time you ate something?

i’m worried about you.

did you have another nightmare?

[name], there’s nobody there.

i want to be happy but i don’t think i deserve it.

please talk to me.

why are you mad at me?

alcohol isn’t going to solve your problems.

don’t leave me.

did you do this to yourself?

it’s breaking my heart to see you like this.

tell me what’s wrong.

tell me how to make it better.

why don’t you care?

get the hell away from me.

please don’t do this.

i can’t believe that you lied to me.

just…stay for the night.

you obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, so let me do it for you.

you can’t die. i won’t let you.

just hang on, okay?

hold my hand if you need to.

i’m sorry.

why do you have a gun?

don’t panic.

just breathe.

you’re bleeding.

i’m trying to stop the bleeding.

you’ve been crying, i can tell.

you should have told me sooner.

i wanted to tell you in person.

a phone call would’ve been nice.

i hate you.

i love you.

[captain-atoma]

i didn’t mean the things i said.

“Naw, I know, I–” He rubs his chin, looking somewhere between tired and loving, and leans forward to pull Angie close.

“We were both young ‘n stupid back then. We might be older now, but–I know I can still be pretty damn stupid m’self. It’s change. It’s hard. We had each-other for so long, n’ then we didn’t, an’ now we do again. We’ll make it.”

[split-the-atom-blog1]

Her face tilts away from his hand, an eye squinting slightly in a slight wince. That’s going to be rather ugly tomorrow, but that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Angela; tonight’s is rather focused on Nate, and also the way the bed seems to gently cup her weary frame in all the right places. 

“I was in a few dust-ups,” she murmurs, pale green eyes falling to some point around Nate’s collarbone. That’s putting it rather dearly understated, but Nate can read all about it tomorrow in the paper; the tale is too long and convoluted for this late hour. “Don’t worry about me, Nat. Nothing some rest can’t fix.”

She wiggles into his chest, moving down so she can tuck her face into his neck, an arm thrown over him. Somehow despite constantly seeking heat as if he’s freezing cold, Nat is blessedly warm, and it lulls her towards the idea of slipping under the covers. She lets out a humming groan at the idea of the pork chops, her head tilting up a little. 

“Oh, no,” she sighs. “You know what I had for dinner? A peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a vending machine.” She huffs a tired laugh. “Did you save any?”

[hronmiir-deactivated20190819]

chrome is hard and i wanna die (don’t tag as genderbend)

[captain-atoma]

BIG WIFE ENERGY

[split-the-atom-blog1]

@captain-atom

It’s sinfully late by the time she manages to get back, still armored and bits of her scorched from a previous fight, her hair unkempt and falling this way and that. She’s trying to be quiet unlocking the door, worried about waking Nathaniel up, but the keys jangle anyways and her exhausted footsteps are too heavy and thudding on the floor. 

She drops her bag on the chair and lets it slump, forgotten as her armor slides away and she heads to the bedroom. Underneath her armor all she has is a sports bra and a set of leggings; quickly and quietly she grabs her pajamas from the bedroom dresser and heads to the master bathroom. 

She closes the door, turns the lights on and gets a good look at herself, wincing at her forming black eye and the various dents and dings over her face. The adrenaline is winding down, and the bruises patchworking her body are starting to bloom and ache. Carefully, letting out a couple of grunts, she peels out of her leggings and bra and wrestles on her pajamas. 

[captain-atoma]

It’s not hard to wake Nate up these days, and it only takes a few minutes for him to rouse when he hears movement in the other room. Bleary and bloodshot eyes slowly open, though he’s still sleep-ridden and drowsy, and it takes him a few minutes to sit up.

By that time, Angela’s already in the bathroom, so he yawns and stretches with a bit of a grunt, taking his time to stand back up. He’s considering his options as he scratches his stomach, lazy in this moment but with a sleepy sort of excitement at the arrival of his wife.

“Angel,” He murmurs, sitting back down on the bed after a few seconds. “You come back to me in one piece?”

Having a wife as a superhero is.. interesting. She’d come back to him after nearly 20 years presumed dead. He’d been at her funeral, with the kids, staring at her empty casket. The transition from that to her alive and well and not a day older on his doorstep, nearly unchanged save for her completely silver locks. His hair had been going grey, too, but it wasn’t nearly as shining or silky as hers.

He waits for her reply, and then decides that he’s getting cold without the cover of his blankets–so he climbs back under them, snuggling up to his warm spot.

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She slogs her way out into the bedroom slowly, feet scuffing across the carpet as she makes her way around to her side of the bed and sits down with a heavy groan. What, exactly, is the definition of in one piece? Angela feels as if some pieces of her have certainly been chipped off or at least cracked, over the course of the day. 

“Mostly,” she murmurs, forgoing her ritual of a forehead kiss in favor of finding the Tylenol gel in the nightstand drawer and pulling her shirt up to slather it over her bruised torso. It’s not the worst pain she’s ever felt, and indeed it’s all beginning to blur together as the week comes to a close, but she’s still eager to dull it enough that she can curl into Nate’s arms without flinching. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She wipes off the excess on her pajama pants and turns, too warm to get under the covers with Nate but still eager for his embrace. She curls into him, pressing kisses to his cheeks and chin and finally his lips, her hair spilling over the pillow and her shoulders. “I’m sorry I got back so late, the post-incident briefing went on for far too long..”

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