Drive. ~James Buchanan Barnes

Chapter 19

Eight hours in to the flight, and I'm beginning to feel the efforts of maintaining our alternate appearances.  I haven't slept, and neither has Bucky even though the lights dimmed as we hit the four hour point. 

I take a sip of my coke to fight off my drowsiness and inhale deeply as the throbbing in my head continues.

I follow the movement of Bucky's pen as he writes in his notebook. 

I didn't tell him about the painful aspect of my limitations.  He wouldn't have let me go through with this if I had.  He knows that I can't keep going forever, but he doesn't know the specifics.

Expending so much energy for a long period of time certainly takes its toll.  The headache came first, but it quickly turned into a migraine.  Muscle aches happen next, and I can already feel the beginnings of them as I stretch my arms.  Depending on how long I have to do this, the side-effects will worsen.  Muscle spasms, difficulty focusing, blurred vision.  When I was fourteen, I held out so long that I passed out.

But that was two days.

This is only fourteen hours tops.

A flight to Spain would normally only be about eight to nine hours, but we couldn't book a non-stop flight.  So we are flying Air-France. We have a layover in Paris, but that will only be a couple hours of time to kill.

The flight from Paris to Spain should only be about an hour unless we're delayed.

Fourteen hours at most.

I can do this.

I take a deep breath again, and Bucky looks over.  I know he'll notice soon, but for now I give him a tiny smile and take another drink.

"How are you holding up?" He asks softly.

I smile, not meeting his eyes, "Tired.  I'm okay though."

"You don't look so good." He states.

"I'll be fine, Buck," I assure him, "Promise."

He nods, though he doesn't seem entirely convinced.

I am on his left, and his hand is in his pocket, again.

I carefully wrap my arm around his, pulling up gently so that he rests his forearm on the arm rest.

He glances back at me as I intertwine my hand with his, and rest my arm on his shoulder. I sigh in content as the cool metal soothes my headache just slightly.

He doesn't protest, but I feel him stiffen in caution, "Tell me if your hand starts hurting." He murmurs.

"Shh."

"But-"

"Shh."

He's silent, shaking his head slightly.

"Maybe you can take a break when we get to France. We can find somewhere empty. You need to rest." He offers.

I sit back up, angling my head to look at him. Even sitting down, he's taller than I am.

"That would be nice, but it's too much of a risk. Security might see." I say, "Besides, if I stop I don't know if I'll have the energy to start again."

"I wish I could help." He mutters.

I know that having nothing to do drives him crazy. Even on those long car rides he would fidget or map out different plans for different situations. Here, all he can do is wait until we land.