Barcelona is a beautiful city. There's so much art there...so much music. The people are kind and accommodating, and after only a month of being here I am already speaking the language rather well.
One month.
Has it really been so long? I wonder sometimes how my family is doing... I wonder if they still look for me. I wonder if my missing posters have turned into a wanted picture.
Bucky and I have found a little apartment in the middle of the city, and it's easy to forget that we aren't just a normal couple making a fresh start. It feels like that sometimes.
His nightmares are few and far between, but not non-existent. I doubt they will be until it's safe to find help. Still, it's better than they were at the beginning.
I glance up at him as he attempts to make breakfast, eying the pan while he fails to flip the omelette.
"You know, I though you were supposed to have really good hand-eye coordination." I tease.
He shrugs, finally sliding the mangled omelette onto a plate, "Maybe I'm losing my touch. Besides, shooting guns and making breakfast are two very different things."
I take a bite, "At least it tastes better than it looks."
"That omelette happens to be beautiful." He retorts, shooing my fork away with his own.
I grin up at him, stealing one more bite before going to stand by the window, "Whats the plan for today?"
"No clue. Maybe check out some of the open air places? There's a big one near the cathedral that's supposed to be good." He mutters, his mouth full.
"Sounds good," I reply, "Maybe we can check out a few more of the street venders too."
He nods in agreement, gesturing to the small collection of notebooks on the table, "Almost full."
"Even more reasons to stop by the vendors. Eat up. I wanna get out before it gets too hot." I say.
The day goes by quickly, nothing really special. We get groceries and walk around for a while. Bucky insists upon buying me a fan with a depiction of the city across the front.
It's as though we're tourists.
And when our day comes to a close, when we get back to the apartment and go to bed, arms and legs all tangled up around each-other as usual, we fall asleep quickly.
I forgot how quickly things can go south.
When I wake, I am gasping for air as a cool, metal hand constricts my airway. His eyes are open, but staring as though he isn't seeing what's in front of him.
I try to say his name, to say something, but the edges of my vision are already turning to gray, and I have no air to spare for speaking. Struggling against him is useless of course, and handling this gently is simply not an option.
I close my eyes, feeling terrified tears fall down the sides of my face as I try to concentrate on my own body. Focus. I feel myself fall, and I feel the air tear it's way into my lungs as my throat stretches to allow more in. I hit the floor underneath the bed and I hear him pause in slight confusion before his feet hit the floor and he begins trying to reach for me.
I will the metal frame of the bed to extend down. In a way, I suppose I am trapping myself. I am in a cage, but as I hear him slamming against the metal, feeling it bend under the pressure, I know I am safer here than I would be otherwise.
In the dark, I bring my hands up to my face and frantically wipe away the salty tears, willing myself to be silent and wait it out.
After a while- after I have recovered enough to breathe without gasping- after I can think logically, I hear him settle down.
أنت تقرأ
Drive. ~James Buchanan Barnes
أدب الهواة{DISCONTINUED} The Winter Soldier has just escaped Hydra's custody, and fully intends to keep it that way. Shield is just as bad. Shield may even be the same. So he runs. He isn't sure why. He isn't even sure who he is, but he knows he can't go...
