Gold to Airy Thinness Beat

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bucky couldn't breathe.

Spots danced in his vision as he struggled to draw in ari. His hands opened and closed at his sides helplessly and he was shaking so hard it was a wonder his bones didn't break. He felt cold and hot all at once and his eyes were wide and fixed, unable to pull away from the uniform on the bed.

"James?" Carter was speaking to him slowly and gently, her hands raised in front of her but not touching him as if she feared he would break at the slightest pressure.

She wasn't wrong.

"That's why we couldn't find her," he managed to gasp out. He was finally, finally able to look away from the blood-soaked uniform to stare at Peggy in horror. She still seemed far away, her voice muffled and words faint.

His eyes went back to the bed, as if pulled there by some unseen force.

"They found her," he whispered. Even as he thought it he cursed himself for a damn fool. Of course they'd found her. Her blood carried the pure version of Erskine's serum. She was a valuable target, alive or dead.

The chain around his neck suddenly felt like it weighed a ton, the ring resting against his collarbone carved from burning ice.

It had been bad enough when he couldn't find his girl, when all he could think about was her being left out there like she was nothing, when he'd failed her so utterly and completely that he couldn't even give her the basic decency of a burial....

He'd barely been able to bear it then...but this? To know those bastards had found her, touched her, most likely cut her...bile surged and he choked, spinning away from the bed to stagger to the bathroom. He barely made it in time, collapsing in front of the toilet, pain sparking through his knees as they impacted the hard tile. He gripped the edges of the bowl and retched, losing what little he'd been able to eat just that morning and probably most of what he'd eaten the last several days.

When it was over, he simply stayed where he was, panting, until the smell and acrid taste in his mouth drove him to flush and drag himself to his feet. He turned on the sink and rinsed his mouth and then gripped the edges of the narrow counter. He sagged forward until his forehead was touching the cold glass of the mirror and shut his eyes.

He'd barely been able to bear it before, but this?

This he couldn't bear at all.

"I love you James Buchanan Barnes."

"My Brooklyn Boy."

"Bucky."

"Make the monster go away."

His fingers tightened on the edges of the counter as her voice, younger than he'd heard in years, floated through his mind. A brief memory, hazy with age, wide blue eyes turned up to his from where she sat curled on her bed, dressed in an oversized nightgown she'd borrowed from her mother so she could feel grown up, clutching a ratty old teddy bear she'd appropriated from him, and trusting him to save her from the monster she was convinced had taken up residence in her closet. She'd trusted him over her own parents, demanding they call him to come save her from the monster.

He'd saved her from that one, and all the ones that had come after.

All save the last one.

An almost unnatural sense of calm settled over him and he opened his eyes. The pounding in his head eased and, rather than far away and dim, he was suddenly hyperaware of everything, every color in bright relief, every detail cut with such clarity it was almost painful to look at.