Chapter 30
"Clothes upstairs, beds everywhere, couches too if you don't want to double up. Food, coffee, water, booze, soda, all in the kitchen, help yourself to whatever," I rambled as I led everyone into the house.
Bucky grabbed my hand for a moment and pulled me aside while the others continued into the kitchen.
"I'm going to go find some clothes upstairs, I'll be back in a few minutes," he muttered.
I nodded, slightly confused about the hush-hush nature of his actions. "Yeah," I whispered. "Yeah, go ahead."
He thanked me softly, kissed my cheek, and disappeared up the stairs. I furrowed my eyebrows and walked towards the kitchen, where there seemed to be a very lively conversation happening. I heard my name spoken, and paused at the doorway so that I was still unseen.
"So, they're like together, together?" Scott was in the midst of saying. "For how long?"
"Hard to say, exactly," Clint spoke up. "They kept it quiet for a long time."
"I've got say, I am shocked. He's just so...scary."
"Not with Cara," Wanda was talking now. "He's different with her."
"He's like he used to be," Steve said quietly.
Someone laughed lightly.
"You know it's weird," Clint pondered. "Not that long ago, I couldn't imagine him with anyone. Now, I can't even imagine them apart."
"God, they love each other so fucking much it makes me want to vomit," Sam muttered.
I smiled slightly and came off the wall, walking into the kitchen. They all fell silent as I entered and went to the refrigerator.
"Oh, don't mind me. Please, keep discussing my relationship."
"Cara-"
I didn't even let the sentence leave Steve's mouth. "I was kidding, Cappie. I don't give a shit."
I opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. Clint and Sam chuckled at Steve's discomfort, but stopped when I glared at them.
"So, what are we going to do?" Sam asked quietly. "We're here, safe, and that's great, but we can't just hide forever."
I sighed. "As much as it sucks to say, I think we're going to have to lay low for a while. Play defense, you know."
There were murmurs and nods of agreement.
"It's been a long couple of weeks. Everyone just take tonight to rest up and relax a little bit," Steve announced. "We can make a firmer plan tomorrow."
"Sounds like a good idea," I sighed, taking the beers off the counter.
"So, where did Mr Barnes slip off to?" Clint teased. "I mean, it's been a while since you two have been together, if you know what I'm sayin."
I flicked him off and rolled my eyes. Sam and Scott roared with laughter as Clint returned the gesture.
"I'll be upstairs," I grumbled, walking out of the kitchen. "See you guys in the morning."
I left and walked upstairs, looking through the bedrooms for Bucky. The door next to the room I had been in was slightly ajar, and I walked inside. It was a sort of media room with an attached balcony. The doors to that were also opened. Bucky sat on the edge of the balcony, feet dangling over the side of the roof, smoking a cigarette.
"I didn't know you smoked."
Bucky quickly put the cigarette out and dropped the butt into a dead potted plant nearby.
"Sometimes," he muttered, "when, uh, you know, stress."
I sat down next to him and offered him one of the beers, which he took. He popped the cap off with ease and took a long sip. I did the same.
"You know, smoking is gross," I whispered. "My dad used to. The number of times he and my mom argued about it, christ, I can't even tell you."
He nodded slightly, staring into his bottle. "Yeah. It's nasty."
"I can't have you getting smokers lungs. You won't be able to keep up with my constant babbling. Believe it or not, I can only listen to myself speak for so long."
His lips curved into a smile and he laughed a little. I moved closer to him as he put his a hand on my knee softly. His smile quickly disappeared, and mine soon followed.
"What's wrong?" I asked gently.
He exhaled loudly and waited a moment before answering. "It's really beautiful up here; so peaceful and quiet. I can see why you wanted us to come up here one day."
"That's all true, but doesn't answer my question."
"I-I've had kind of a bad week. Not my first, and most likely not my last, but one of my worst," he said quietly. "This whole thing is my fault. All my goddamn fault."
"Stop-"
"It's been one of those weeks where you start wondering if the people you love would be better off without you."
"Bucky," I whispered, not quite sure what to say to him.
He brought his bottle to his mouth again, refusing to look at me. "You deserve better than this."
"We've talked about this bef-"
"You deserve someone who doesn't start a war with your family. Someone who doesn't feel like the world would be a better place without him," he spoke over me. "You can hope and dream that we could be a normal couple that could come up to a cabin in the middle of nowhere for a romantic weekend away, but deep down you know you can never have that. Not with me. You deserve better than me."
"You're not serious right now."
He responded by taking another sip of his beer.
I shook my head and almost laughed in disbelief. "You're trying to turn this around so that I'll break up with you because you think you're robbing me of some opportunity. I'm not going to do that because that's not what I want. If that's what you want I suggest you man up and do it yourself, because as far as I'm concerned, I'm not being robbed of anything."
I stood up and walked back towards the door, feeling myself getting more and more frustrated. I stopped shortly and turned back around angrily.
"We've all got out demons, Bucky. We've all got one form of PTSD or another, it comes with the job," I told him.
"There's a difference between having PTSD and having suicidal thoughts," he replied.
"Stop, don't talk like that," I cried.
Bucky stood up and walked towards me. "That's reality, Cara. You don't know what it's like. I'm fucked up inside and you know it."
"So am I!"
"No-"
"You think I don't get it?! You think I'm prefect?!" I yelled.
"You've got the money, and the houses, and the clothes, and the cars, and the friends, and the family-!"
"None of that has anything to do with this! Jesus Christ, all the money, all the alcohol, all the sex, all the drugs in the fucking world, it doesn't do shit!"
"Well, it do-"
"I've gone through my shit, Bucky. You don't know everything about me! I wasn't working with Steve and Natasha when you showed up two years ago," I interrupted, "I was supposed to be with them but I couldn't because," my voice broke off as I blinked back tears, "because I swallowed a massive handful of painkillers and chased them with half a bottle of Jameson."
His face contorted with a mixture of confusion and shock. "What? No, what are you-"
"A few months after New York I started having some issues. I was depressed, I wasn't eating, I barely spoke to anyone. I didn't know what, if anything, triggered it or why the fuck I felt so alone in an environment with so many goddamn people around me all the time. I went to school for years to learn about what happens in the human brain and when mine got fucked up I had no idea how to comprehend it. Hell, I still can't."
My voice was loud and sharp, and I could see the words hurting him.
Bucky stepped closer to me and tried to put his hands on my shoulders. "Cara, please-"
"No, you don't think I get it, Bucky. I do understand!" I yelled, pushing him away. "I stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom one night with the full intent of never looking at myself again. By the time I passed out, Clint found me and forced me to vomit it all up."
Tears spiked my eyes now, and I could see the same thing happening to him.
"First thing he told me when I came to was that he was going to tell Tony and that I needed to go to rehab or counseling or some shit. But I wouldn't let him. I told him I could figure it out for myself. But that stubborn bastard wouldn't take no for an answer. So, he offered something else," I took several shaky, ragged breaths before continuing.
"He took me to the farm, he said it was rehab Barton style. I stayed for almost six months. Everyone else thought I was doing research in Europe. I got better and back to myself and went back to work," my voice got shakier, and I realized I was yelling. "But I still have bad days where I hate myself and I wish that Clint hadn't found me because I'm human and I'm not perfect!"
Bucky tried to put his arms on my waist again, and I again slapped him away.
"So I do get it, Bucky! I fucking lived it!" I sobbed. "Don't tell me I don't get it! I'm just as bad as you, if not worse."
He grabbed my arms as I flailed around, trying to calm me down. I tried to push him off of me, but he stood firm.
"Cara, Cara, stop, listen to me!" Bucky yelled.
I stopped fighting for a moment and looked away from him, tears still pouring down my face. Bucky put his hands on my cheeks and turned my face back towards him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I sniffed and hesitated. "I-I didn't want you to think I was some prissy, weak little bitch who couldn't take what her job threw at her."
At this point my voice had become scratchy and cracked from screaming at him. He took a step closer to me.
"Don't you ever call yourself weak," he snapped, the anger in his voice surprising me. "Okay?!"
"Okay," I said almost inaudibly.
"Cara Stark, you are the strongest woman, hell, person I know. I have never met anyone as resilient or brave as you, and I've lived a really long fucking time," he whispered.
I hesitated and looked away from him again, still not really sure what to do. I wanted all the anger I felt towards him and everything else to disappear, but it didn't. I felt like a lump of anxiety and nervousness, and I didn't have the slightest clue what to do with said feelings.
"I think I'm going to go to bed," I whispered after a few minutes. "I'm really tired."
He nodded, looking taken aback. "Uh, okay. Is it okay if I, um, or do you want me to-"
"No, you can come," I replied, turning and walking towards the bedroom.
When I reached it, I immediately crossed the room to the bed and brought back the sheets and the heavy comforter before climbing in. Bucky stood to the side, pulling his sweatshirt and t-shirt off over his head and tossing them to the floor. He pulled back the blankets on the side of the bed he stood by and got in.
We both lied there in silence, an unusually large gap between us. I slowly turned so that my back was facing him, and pretended I was already asleep, even though I knew he wouldn't believe me. The mattress dipped beside me as he reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, then settled back into the bed. After several more minutes of silence in the newfound I pulled one of the extra pillows to my chest and took s shaky breath.
"I'm sorry I yelled," I whispered. "I was really mad, but I shouldn't have been. I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize," he replied quietly. "I get it."
I hugged the pillow even tighter, still not facing him. "I love you, Bucky."
"I love you, too," he murmured, touching my shoulder gently.
His hand lingered for a moment, like he was waiting for me to turn over into his arms. And I almost did. But I didn't.
Bucky moved his hand away, and I heard him turn over and pull the blankets over the rest of his body. I squeezed my eyes shut as the chasm between us grew, and urged myself into a light, restless sleep without his arms around me.