Distressed // Steve Rogers

5 - A Target

Two Weeks Missing

She was cold but a blanket had been placed over her and the fire had been lit recently. As she opened her eyes she lay still, observing the man as he sat at the small table; a cup of coffee steaming in his hands and a plate beside him. 

He glanced over to her.

"You need to eat, Little One." His voice was soft and Jamie wasn't scared. She knew they were coming. 

"Uncle Bucky will find me," she whispered and the strange man smiled.

"I'm counting on it, Little One. Now come and eat."

*

Talia woke in a room that was not hers. It was not the wide open space that she and Steve had spent the beginning of their story hiding away in. Instead it was a space filled to the brim with books and toy swords and white wolves and teddies a small child could bury herself under. Teddies her child had buried herself under countless times before. Talia had woken in the room that Tony had turned into Jamie's. She had woken with the smell of her child, the faint traces of the little girl she was desperately clinging to. She had woken to the emptiness of another day without her.

Her eyes burned. They were finally dry, despite the soaked pillow beneath her head, but now there were no tears left. No moisture. Not even the slickest coating to stop the scratching of her lids as she blinked. Every time she opened or closed her eyes it was sandpaper. So she lay staring at the wall. Unwilling to move. Unwilling to blink. Just staring.

She remained like this as the door creaked open and a figure stepped into the darkness. The blinds had remained pulled since she came in here - One? No two? Two days ago? - and she didn't move to open them. Outside the world kept moving, the sun kept shining, life went on. Inside life was an empty void. 

Her eyes flickered to the figure, spotting the faintest refraction of faded light from the hall, and she lay her head back down, looking at nothing in particular.

"Talia?" His voice sounded as she felt; hollow and aching. "Can we - Can I just say something?"

Bucky stepped forwards, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to stop his trembling and his eyes stained red from tears. 

"No, Buck." Her voice was a whisper.

She heard his whimpered cry and her heart thumped a little; just enough life left in her to hurt it seemed.

"Please, Tal. I just need to -"

"I said no, Bucky." Monotonous and lifeless. That was what she heard when she spoke - a voice with no life. "You don't understand."

He stared at her with wide, pleading eyes and she looked at him. Bucky's face was thinner, like his cheeks had hollowed out somehow, and his eyes - eyes that had always been so full of light and laughter and trouble - were dull and diminished. He was breaking too.

"I don't need to hear that you're sorry or that you didn't think, okay?" She continued as he stared at her, fresh tears pooling in the oceans of his eyes. "I don't need to hear it."

"Tal -"

"I don't blame you Bucky. Neither does Steve, okay?" She choked on a broken cry as he shook his head. "This isn't your fault. So please don't say anything. Okay? Just come here."