You rarely had nightmares.

Usually, you'd be the one waking up in the middle of the night to comfort your boyfriend who'd be deep in a nightmare, waking him up to calm him down and reassure him he wasn't there, and that he was okay.

He'd never had to do that for you.

Until one night, after a particularly difficult mission that had lasted a week, one that left the team still on edge, even after it was all said and done.

You were shaking, like a leaf, in your sleep.

You were laid on your side, James spooning you from behind as your left hand clenched the grey bedsheet.

You were on your knees, one of the men behind you, a gun to the back of your neck.

James woke up, confused and half-asleep until he saw you shaking,

He sat up, putting his metal hand on your arm.

"Sweetheart?" He said softly, pushing some of your hair from your face, but you were still deep asleep and shaking, your breathing heavy.

"Sweetheart, wake up." James said, shaking you softly, realizing that you were having a nightmare. A particularly bad nightmare.