Secretive - Bucky Barnes

41 || News

[Natasha/Sam]
»I hate this.« I grumble passive-aggressively, pulling out one of the ash-covered metallic drawers from the desk. Dust and other tiny kinds of pollution swirl through the air, and I make an effort from avoiding a cough. »There's nothing left in here. I don't understand why he would make us search through all this.«

As expected, the entire inside of the building we were to invade is burned; stacks and stacks of grey sand, but no paper left. Nothing but the urge to get a vacuum cleaner.

Frustrated, I push back the drawer with a little too much energy, a cloud of the leftovers blinding me for mere a second. »Any more success at yours, Rogers?«

Turning around, I face the blonde on the other end of the dark room. He crouches in front of a melted metal box, the smell of fresh fire still like the Sword of Damokles hovering in the air. I receive nothing but a shake of his head, and it is driving me nuts.

It is driving me nuts for days now. Steve barely said a word, the chime of his voice during the last days countable on one hand.

It started with him dragging himself with the last bits of his power into the airplane bringing us to Europe. When he trembled through the door, not only one laceration on his head, not only two haematomas of a fist's size in his belly, left cheek just below the eye swollen, several contusions on both his legs and arms – he looked like walking out of a steamroller, or having fought Klitschko in his Pre-Serum state but make it worse, or like he would have cheated death in the last second. He did not explain to anyone of us, did not tell us how he got all beat up during the hour we had not had sight on him. Just shaking his head, like it was nothing.

But I am convinced now that his heart does not only equal his appearance back then, but is hurt even more. And lasting longer. While he is all healed up by now, not even a scar left, his heart bleeds just as much as it did at Day One. And therefore, at least therefore, I do not need an explanation. I know it is about Nova and Bucky being left alone; I can feel the dismay as well, just that I would not portray it as openly.

Since that moment, Steve only spoke if it was necessary. And that was not even five times. He would not answer how he feels, what it is his mind roams around, how it is possible for Captain America to be beat up alike. He is misery walking on two feet, that is all.

Slowly making my way up to him, I scan the room one more time just to be sure. Grey concrete walls, not a single hole that would portray a picture having hanged in here; resemblances of a table and a chair, perhaps a wooden shelf if the tiny, barely visible shadow on the wall was to be trusted. Everything burned down by Schmidt before we could reach the base.

Crouching next to him, one hand on his shoulder, he stops midmotion. An almost inaudible sigh crossing his lips, head tilting forwards, eyes closing. Not only misery on two feet, but poignantly anguish.

I know Tony is not here, neither is anyone else. They are back at the hotel already, trying to decipher whatever they could get their hands on, while Steve and me are here to find and scan anything that could be useful in the slightest left. For the first time in a few days, we are alone, in privacy, and I will not let this opportunity slip through my fingers. »Steve, please. You can't continue like this. Tell me what's wrong.«

He shifts, his massive shoulder twitching underneath my touch like wanting to brush off my hand. Not with me, Loser. Not answering my question, his right hand supporting himself on the metal box, his left hand raises up to his nose, massaging its neck. Covering his face with the movement.

»How would we be able to find anything important if you're not on your hundred percent, Steve? If you don't do this for yourself, at least do it for the others. Get your patriotic ass out of the hole you crawled in.« I try again, maybe a little harsh, but better to be forward than beating about the bush.