Gold to Airy Thinness Beat

Chapter Twenty-Seven

James Buchanan Barnes studied the ice cubes in his glass as if they would give him any answer he sought if he simply looked hard enough.

He'd been looking for hours but, so far, they'd refused to give him even one.

It was fine.

He didn't deserve any answers.

He sat at a table, or what was left of one, in the shattered remnants of a bar. Most of the back wall was missing and broken bits of furniture were scattered about. A fine layer of dust lay over everything like a funeral shroud and the silence was so heavy it was nearly suffocating.

If he focused, he could almost hear the faint strains of music, the chatter of a multitude of voices. His eyes flickered toward the back corner, near the bar. In the shadows was an overturned table, one leg snapped off, chairs reduced to kindling around it. In his mind, he saw the Commandos, their images almost transparent and slow as if they moved through water, gathered around an unbroken table, glasses on its surface before them, bright smiles on their faces.

In his mind's eye, he saw her.

She was so out of place in that setting. A creature of beauty and light pulled down to the muck and mire of earth, for a short time.

He'd always known it would only be for a time. She was a gift he'd never deserved and he'd known one day the universe would realize it and take her back.

The scene faded, leaving behind only emptiness and decay and he moved his eyes away, back to the glass in his hand.

"I love you James Buchanan Barnes."

A swell of grief blindsided him, bubbling up from the gaping, raw wound where a piece of his soul had been carved out and he closed his eyes against the pain, hand tightening on the glass.

God, but he'd loved her. So much he couldn't adequately convey it, couldn't think of a word that would do the least bit of justice to the depths of what he'd felt for her. Every time he thought he'd found the height of his love for her she would go and do something to open an entirely new level. He'd been quite content at the thought of making it his life's mission to try and find out just how many levels there were.

A footstep scraped through the debris near the broken doors to the bar. His eyes opened and the pain that had become a part of him retreated, back into the void leaving behind the blank nothingness he'd begun to rely on to keep him mobile. He didn't turn to see who it was, simply kept his eyes on the glass in his hand.

Agent Carter stepped into his line of sight. "James. What are you doing here?"

"Pretending to get drunk," he said, finally lifting his head to give her a bitter grin. He wished he could get drunk, enough to forget, for just a moment, the hell his life had fallen into. He raised the glass absently, studying the amber liquid inside. Perhaps that was just his lot, though. His punishment for having been given an angel, and then being so careless as to let her fall.

He put the glass back down harder than he'd intended and it shattered, ice and alcohol washing across the dusty surface. He saw Carter flinch out of the corner of his eye but ignored it, choosing instead to watch the pool of liquid slowly make its way to the edges of the table where it ran over and fell to splatter into stillness on the concrete floor.

A sudden, overwhelming surge of anger ran through him and he grabbed the bottle that had been sitting on the table and threw it as hard as he could. It hit the bar and burst before falling to the ground in a shower of broken shards.

A memory surfaced, kneeling at her feet to clean up broken glass in her kitchen. He'd told her he was leaving and she'd almost started crying but had turned away to hide it from him. When she'd turned back she'd had a fake smile on her face, and a false note of hope in her voice. She'd wanted him to leave in peace knowing she would be all right on her own when they'd both known she wouldn't. She hadn't been thinking of herself, only him and how he must be feeling. She was always doing that, thinking of him before herself.