When it All Comes Crashing

Chapter 6

"Captain Rogers," I requested gently, "can I ask you to sit down, please?" He looked at me, seeming to have just noticed me enter the room. The Winter Soldier's eyes had flicked to me the second I came in. "I think you might be feeding off each other's energy right now." He frowned at me. "I brought lunch for you both, since I know you haven't eaten yet either."

I got Steve to pull up a chair and a small table from nearby and set his lunch tray on it. A huge bowl of hearty beef stew, several warm, crusty honey wheat rolls with plenty of butter, and a giant piece of warm apple pie with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. "This looks amazing, Cookie."

"Thanks, Cap. Enjoy."

I turned to the man in the holding cell. "Hello, Sergeant Barnes," I said warmly, introducing myself politely. "I brought you some lunch. Captain Rogers said you haven't eaten much since you've been here." I set his identical tray on the platform of the pass through. "I bet it's pretty uncomfortable for you, being here. I probably wouldn't feel much like eating either, not knowing who or what to trust. After everything I'm sure you've been through I can only imagine how you must feel being locked up like this." I glanced up at him, coincidently through a fist-sized, spiderwebbed dent in the strange, plexiglass-like material of the barrier. "I bet I'd be angry and frustrated. Maybe even scared." I shifted so he had a good view of me. "I want you to know you're safe here, and my food is always going to be safe for you to eat." I proceeded to take a couple of bites of everything on his tray before pushing it through the pass through and flipping the switch to open it on his side. I knew when he could smell it, his nostrils twitched and his throat bobbed. I gave him an encouraging smile. "I'm not going to stand here and watch you two eat. Steve, could you send Chuck back to the Commons kitchen with the dishes when you're done?"

When Chuck trundled into the kitchen, both trays were full of empty dishes, and there was a thank you note with a little drawing of a slice of apple pie a la mode in the corner from Steve. That night I got a request from him wondering if I could deliver all Bucky Barnes' meals.

"Sarah?"

"Sorry, I was just remembering something. Anyway, as Bucky got further in his recovery, sometimes he would have trouble with satiety signals, or remembering to eat on mission, or anxiety would make it hard for him to keep food down, and I'd help him readjust."

"It sounds like you were close with him."

"I am," I smiled. "He's my best friend."

"I thought Steve Rogers was his best friend."

"Maybe," I shrugged, "but he can still be mine."

Jack ate most of what I'd given him, and Lo finished it off greedily.

We took the next few days heading south at a leisurely pace. I did a little sightseeing and made a few connections, thankfully with no further incidents involving the local color. Jack continued healing from his injury at a supersoldier pace, and I could already see some subtle improvements in his mood and bearing. He was a little more talkative, and seemed more casually alert than paranoid, and his appetite was already improving. Supersoldier resilience at its best. I'd picked up a new guitar secondhand in Monterey City to replace the one I gave up with the old van setup and went back to practicing in the evenings. Usually with Lo curled against my thigh using my knee as a pillow and Jack watching the fire die.

Tonight, we had found ourselves in a small town holding a street party. I'd stopped to visit the market early in the day and spread around enough money that a few of the vendors told me that we should join in the festivities of the evening.

I made the rounds and complimented every matriarch's cooking, and they complimented me on my "big, strong and very handsome husband" which made me chuckle. If they only knew... But, I let the cover stand and they made many a ribald comment about how rough he looked, the amount of food I had bought earlier in the day, my slight limp, and how all that must translate to his prowess and stamina, thinking I didn't get what they were saying, but I had supplemented my conversational Spanish in many a kitchen and knew more far more filth than the average tourist.