Loose Ends

Aftermath

The world snaps back into place with Steve's hand on the top of my thigh. His touch grounds me and makes me feel safe. "You okay?" He whispers. I put one of my hands on top of his. I squeeze the hand and smile at him as I wait for the panic to dissipate.

I laugh softly at the question and let myself get lost in his blue eyes. "Fine fine, I think I've had too much wine already; I should slow down."

Steve is skeptical but accepts my answer. He would never have accepted that if he could feel my panic, my pounding heart, and my sweaty palms. He lets me turn back to Wanda's conversation, her smile warm and her story engaging. I try to focus on that and not my heart.

During dessert, Bucky reaches out and touches my hand on the table. His touch is light and tender, tracing across my skin, and I ache with how hallow I feel. That's when I notice I wasn't eating but just picking absently at the sweet treat in front of me. "Hey." He whispers. I smile at him, leaning in to give him a little kiss and pretend for a moment that I wasn't thinking about watching him die. Unfortunately, human goo is a little unappetizing.

I smile at him, his touch bringing me back to reality. "I am absolutely full. You want some more cake?" I look at it and shrug a little. "I mutilated it for you?" I say with a little laugh by way of apology.

He shrugs and takes the small plate from in front of me, "Still delicious." He assures me, and his eyes look pointed as they hold me a little longer than needed. I can't tell if he is concerned and is evaluating me or trying to reassure me he still loves me, even if I am torn apart.

We are still drinking and talking for a while and Bucky catches me looking at him, just staring at him swimming in the memory of his pain. I close my eyes for a second, trying to block out the memory, and as Bucky leans into me. His lips on mine are soft, but I swear I can taste gunmetal, and my skin crawls a little at the loss of him when he pulls away. I remind myself he is there and alive as I try to take a sip of wine to wash away the tang. I ignore that now that tastes like blood in my mouth.

I breathe out for a moment and readjust myself to pull my mind back to reality. Sam says my name, and I try to join their conversation, shoving down the urge to cry.

Maybe I am not fine. I need some air. "Excuse me." I stand. "Ladies room," I tell Steve when he looks like he wants to ask me where I am going or stand and go with me. I slip myself away from his seeking hand.

Natasha smiles, standing. "I'll come with you."

I don't want her to, but she does. I walk quickly. I need to get away. I push through the bathroom door and hear Nat close it behind me, locking it even though it isn't a one-person bathroom. I feel hot, and I feel overwhelmed, and I feel pain crash over me, crippling and pulling. My heart feels tight, and my body shakes. I want to run, and I want to be alone. I am so embarrassed as I look up at Natashas face. I must look crazy. I feel like I need to cry but can't, and I can't breathe. And. And. And. There is so much. Piling up inside me in a mountain. Natasha's voice is clear and sharp "Y/N, breathe. You are having a panic attack. You need to breathe." I lean over the sink holding on.

I am shaking, holding onto the cold surface, and breathing hard as I struggle not to relive what is in my head, the moments I've seen, Steve has seen, Bucky has seen, and it isn't working. I used to feel the horror of things I saw, but I could also bottle them up and pour them outside my body. I didn't cope with them so much because I didn't hold them. I saw things, but they didn't happen to me; they were in the past or a fantasy of imagination. It was like a movie. I feel like I am in surgery instead of seeing it on TV. I jerk hard, looking up in the mirror, and I swear I can see the spray of blood out the back of my head as Hughes shoots me and I close my eyes. It's not real. It's not real. Nat's hand is rubbing soothing circles on my back. "Just breathe," She tells me. "Focus on my hand on your back. Focus on the sink under your hands. Breathe." I breathe and she is quiet and soothing as she stays with me, gentle and kind for an assassin. Then again, I sleep with one regularly, so I guess everything is all relative.