Secretive - Bucky Barnes

13 || Escapism || 🌶

Lingering around James's house turned out to be without result. Thirty-six hours later of nothing but patrolling up and down, trying not to be seen and always be awake and alert really threatened to bring me to my knees from weakness - which surprised me, but considering months of barely sleep and keeping myself up with coffee and fast food rather than something healthy, it should not be as surprising. So, with the money I had left in my pockets and regardless of my bad conscience about healthy food, I ordered a pizza in the late afternoon, wiping away the snow from the roots of a nearby tree seeming good enough not to be discovered for a while. I would not use James's money without having talked to him before, but I did in fact used the landline, trying hard not to see all too much from the house. Then, I dozed for four hours or something, a part of mine still getting every necessary information in my environment, and the rest trying to gather energy.

But Steele did not show up. Nor did any of the others to now. The part of being followed was mere an assumption, but a pretty probable one. My crimson-eyed, self-declared enemy must have recognized I am not to get down, and maybe got himself a little company.

The term of suffering could mean a lot. I am not foolish enough to believe he would simply drag me away from James and my family; his hot-blooded hatred has been way too intense for that when I last looked him in the eye. And with every minute passing, an additional cold fingertip dances down my spine, in unawareness whether the safehouse I directed them too was safe enough. I feel bad doing it, but with James's and my bond reaching far, very far, I read his emotions over and over again whenever I had a doubt about their health. All I received then was the sweet taste of love, probably because he was spending time with the children, and a thick layer of sour confusion mixed with bitter anger. Not that I do not understand these feelings; not that I do not understand him.

Since he gave me a very clear deadline, another string of thoughts rushed through my mind whenever I temporarily stopped calculating Steele's next steps and the danger drawn to my family. These thoughts made the pizza inedible, but I could not stop eating with the growling commando of my stomach. 
How would I explain all of this to James? How would I explain something so confusing and abstract? What if he did not forgive me? Even if he would for the Serum and all the blood on my hands, a scarlet-red lake pooling beneath my feet and feeding from every drop falling off my fingertips, he surely would not forgive me for willingly send a friend into death, would he? Not knowing I did not search for other possibilities, first. That I sent Alistair away with the kids knowing he was about to die was something I couldn't exonerate me for, so why should there even be a chance for him to do so? When I was with him, I primarily felt his anger. But I also felt its roots, roots buried so deep in the fear to hope for something non-existent. But would he still feel that way knowing I was immortal? Knowing he was not?

Short-handed, I decide to react spontaneously. That is still the most natural way, and I believe to go mad if I spend any more thoughts on how, why and if. 

Knowing perfectly well where the safehouse is and how long it would take me to get there, I start off running to reach it just in time the forty-eight hours gap would close. I know this must have driven him crazy, but I also guess he would not go for me before the next morning started and he brought the children somewhere safe. Meaning, I had enough time left to show up in the middle of the night. Again.

About an hour of running later – damn these wings Alistair once spoke of -, my body reacts before my brain does and comes to a sudden halt. There is a lake right in front of me, perhaps fifteen minutes of walk left to reach the underground cabin I got James and the children into. I do not know why I suddenly get nervous at the futurisitc view of seeing James again. Maybe it are the years that I did not see him. Maybe it are the outcomes of this talk I got through. Maybe it is the fear of him having become someone else, having changed in taste and being attracted to a person other than me. Maybe it is just because I want him to remind my worth, without smelling of sweat and dirt and snow.