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Sequel: Absolute Gravity ›
From Darkness
Eleven
I was surprised when Bucky fell asleep. Maybe he felt safer with me in his arms where he could feel me if I moved again. Or maybe the events of the past few months had finally just caught up with him now that he felt safe enough to sleep. When I eventually did move, I rolled away from him and waited for his eyes to open. His breathing stayed regular, and his arm flopped lazily into the space I'd just vacated. I sat up and turned my back on him.
It was late, and there was no light at all now. I couldn't hear anyone moving around downstairs. I tried to keep my mind clear as I stood and looked around for the boots Bucky brought me.
I didn't look at him as I got ready to leave. I didn't want anything to keep me from doing what I had to do. Maybe he was right, and I'd get caught in a week, but I figured it was a much better risk than the possibility of killing him or someone else. He had a lot of guns, and even though he kept them all well out of sight, I couldn't guarantee that he'd be able to stop me if I managed to get my hands on one again.
He left a sweater dangling over the back of the chair, and neither of us had a coat anymore. So it would have to do until I found something better. I pulled it on and stepped toward the door. I wrapped my hand around the handle and told myself not to look at him. Not even once. I still felt numb, and it was better to be numb.
I still knew I'd regret it if I didn't take at least one last look. Long enough to memorize his face when he wasn't moving or under duress. Wherever I ended up, I'd be able to recall what he looked like when he felt safe and comfortable in a strange bed in Belarus. I had no doubt that he'd be able to track me down if he really wanted to, but I had to trust that he'd let me go.
Only when I turned around he was leaning on his elbow, eyes opened and alert. I didn't even hear him move.
"Déjà vu," he said. I sighed heavily and kept my hand on the doorknob.
"I have to go," I explained.
"You don't have to go, but you can if it's what you really want."
"I just—I don't know what's wrong with me. And I don't want to figure it out by testing it on you."
"You don't have to explain anything to me. If this is what you want—go." I took another deep breath. I just wanted to crawl in beside him and go back to sleep. I wanted to feel safe again. I knew if he gave me an argument, I'd give in. But I still couldn't get myself to move. Maybe I just wanted him to give me a reason to stay.
"Of course, it's not what I want." I looked back at him and got the feeling he already knew that. He was testing me again. I hated it when he did that.
"Then what do you want? Selfishly?" he asked.
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
"That's not selfish." I shook my head and leaned against the door.
"I don't know. I thought I wanted everything to go back to the way it was before, but…." I trailed off and didn't finish.
"You weren't happy then either." I shook my head.
"No, but it was easier. I just want to feel something again. Something other than fear and anger. But I'm afraid of feeling again. And I don't think I felt anything before either. I was just on autopilot. I don't want to go back to that."
He sat up and leaned against his knees. The mattress squeaked to accommodate his weight. Maybe I had heard him shift and just didn't notice it.
"When I left you in California," he started, "I left the states completely. I was planning on lying low for a while. Forever if I could. Stayed on the move for a time. Until I found a place in Bucharest. Off the map enough that I could pay my rent in cash. Landlady never asked questions. I blended in well enough that no one paid any attention to me. I thought I'd lie low there for a while. Stay until I had no other option."
"Why didn't you stay?" I asked. He glanced at me.
"Take a guess."
"Me? Why?"
"I was starting to piece things together again. I knew you were in trouble, and no one else would help you if I didn't do something. I wanted to find out why they wanted you. I know I just made it worse. I did exactly what they wanted me to do. But I thought I could keep you safe."
"So you left hiding for me?"
"Yes, and it probably would have been better for us both if I didn't. It was more than that, though. Not just because I wanted to protect you. It was selfish. I just wanted to know what it was like to feel something other than pain and anger. And you made me feel human again. I remembered that much. I was desperate to feel it again. Desperation makes people reckless." I pinched my lips shut and looked down at the floor. I still had my hand on the doorknob, but I couldn't bring myself to turn it.
"I know what you're feeling right now," he continued. "The problem isn't that you're feeling nothing. It's that you're fighting it. You're afraid of feeling because you think it'll consume you. You've always been that way. Kept things to yourself. Believed you weren't allowed to suffer just because someone else had it worse. Always valuing their troubles over your own.
"I still feel like that sometimes too. Like I should just fade away, and then maybe everyone will be okay. But when you're near me—it gives me something to hold onto. I want to do that for you too. It could be dangerous, and it sure as hell won't be easy, but I think we should try."
"I'm just—terrified. The past two months have been—chaos. But I remember things. Flashes of things, Bucky. They didn't make me forget on purpose. Not like it was with you. It's all there. In my head. And it's just—so much. I almost killed Russell, and I tried to kill you. The problem isn't that I attacked you. I know you can stop me. The problem is that I wanted to kill you. And I don't ever want to feel like that again."
"You will," he promised. "And the fear won't ever go away. But it's easier to deal with when you don't have to do it alone."
Graham said something similar to me once. He said it was easier for people to help themselves when they knew they were loved. I didn't know for sure if Bucky loved me. I knew he cared about me a great deal. But it was very likely just the result of our shared traumas. I had no proof that it was genuine love. And I couldn't be sure that it was for me either. But if I had to ask myself what I really wanted selfishly, it was that. Impossible, yes. But I wanted to feel as safe as I did when he held me. I wanted to feel it every day. I wanted the freedom to explore what I did feel. To have something in my life that didn't revolve around fear or duty or routine. I didn't want to be alone. I hadn't even planned my trip beyond getting out of the house unnoticed. I didn't even know where the nearest city was. So I dropped my hand from the doorknob.
"If I hurt you—I'll never forgive myself," I told him.
"I know."
"I can't shake the feeling that this is a trap. Like we're doing exactly what they wanted us to do."
"They wanted you to kill me. You haven't done it yet."
"And the—Darkness in me?"
"I don't think it does what you think it does."
"You saw what I did to those people."
"I didn't see anything. I saw the aftermath. And if you really did it—we can find a way for you to control it." He sounded optimistic, but we both knew it was unlikely. And even if I did figure it out, I'd probably kill people first. I'd have to live with that guilt. "Do what you want to do, Jo," he repeated. "Not what you think you have to do. You deserve to have that choice."
I wanted to argue more. But I knew I'd never win. He understood better than anyone. I couldn't. So I stepped away from the door and took the sweater off. I tossed it back onto the chair.
"What should we do?" I asked.
"Once Russell is in the clear, we should head back to Bucharest. I paid for the whole year. He'll be safe here, and we can disappear. No one needs to know where we are."
"Is that what you want?" He looked up again, illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight. I could make out his eyes in the dim light. "You asked me to make a selfish choice despite the risk. I need you to do the same. I don't want to disappear with you if I'm an unwanted burden. I'd rather be Stark's prisoner than make you my prisoner. Don't do this because you feel guilty or responsible. I don't want us to resent each other."
"Jo," he said slowly, testing out the words on his lips. "I feel guilty and responsible because I already acted selfishly. Because I want you." I nodded and kicked my boots off, but then I turned back to the door.
"I'll be downstairs," I informed him.
It was late, and there was no light at all now. I couldn't hear anyone moving around downstairs. I tried to keep my mind clear as I stood and looked around for the boots Bucky brought me.
I didn't look at him as I got ready to leave. I didn't want anything to keep me from doing what I had to do. Maybe he was right, and I'd get caught in a week, but I figured it was a much better risk than the possibility of killing him or someone else. He had a lot of guns, and even though he kept them all well out of sight, I couldn't guarantee that he'd be able to stop me if I managed to get my hands on one again.
He left a sweater dangling over the back of the chair, and neither of us had a coat anymore. So it would have to do until I found something better. I pulled it on and stepped toward the door. I wrapped my hand around the handle and told myself not to look at him. Not even once. I still felt numb, and it was better to be numb.
I still knew I'd regret it if I didn't take at least one last look. Long enough to memorize his face when he wasn't moving or under duress. Wherever I ended up, I'd be able to recall what he looked like when he felt safe and comfortable in a strange bed in Belarus. I had no doubt that he'd be able to track me down if he really wanted to, but I had to trust that he'd let me go.
Only when I turned around he was leaning on his elbow, eyes opened and alert. I didn't even hear him move.
"Déjà vu," he said. I sighed heavily and kept my hand on the doorknob.
"I have to go," I explained.
"You don't have to go, but you can if it's what you really want."
"I just—I don't know what's wrong with me. And I don't want to figure it out by testing it on you."
"You don't have to explain anything to me. If this is what you want—go." I took another deep breath. I just wanted to crawl in beside him and go back to sleep. I wanted to feel safe again. I knew if he gave me an argument, I'd give in. But I still couldn't get myself to move. Maybe I just wanted him to give me a reason to stay.
"Of course, it's not what I want." I looked back at him and got the feeling he already knew that. He was testing me again. I hated it when he did that.
"Then what do you want? Selfishly?" he asked.
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
"That's not selfish." I shook my head and leaned against the door.
"I don't know. I thought I wanted everything to go back to the way it was before, but…." I trailed off and didn't finish.
"You weren't happy then either." I shook my head.
"No, but it was easier. I just want to feel something again. Something other than fear and anger. But I'm afraid of feeling again. And I don't think I felt anything before either. I was just on autopilot. I don't want to go back to that."
He sat up and leaned against his knees. The mattress squeaked to accommodate his weight. Maybe I had heard him shift and just didn't notice it.
"When I left you in California," he started, "I left the states completely. I was planning on lying low for a while. Forever if I could. Stayed on the move for a time. Until I found a place in Bucharest. Off the map enough that I could pay my rent in cash. Landlady never asked questions. I blended in well enough that no one paid any attention to me. I thought I'd lie low there for a while. Stay until I had no other option."
"Why didn't you stay?" I asked. He glanced at me.
"Take a guess."
"Me? Why?"
"I was starting to piece things together again. I knew you were in trouble, and no one else would help you if I didn't do something. I wanted to find out why they wanted you. I know I just made it worse. I did exactly what they wanted me to do. But I thought I could keep you safe."
"So you left hiding for me?"
"Yes, and it probably would have been better for us both if I didn't. It was more than that, though. Not just because I wanted to protect you. It was selfish. I just wanted to know what it was like to feel something other than pain and anger. And you made me feel human again. I remembered that much. I was desperate to feel it again. Desperation makes people reckless." I pinched my lips shut and looked down at the floor. I still had my hand on the doorknob, but I couldn't bring myself to turn it.
"I know what you're feeling right now," he continued. "The problem isn't that you're feeling nothing. It's that you're fighting it. You're afraid of feeling because you think it'll consume you. You've always been that way. Kept things to yourself. Believed you weren't allowed to suffer just because someone else had it worse. Always valuing their troubles over your own.
"I still feel like that sometimes too. Like I should just fade away, and then maybe everyone will be okay. But when you're near me—it gives me something to hold onto. I want to do that for you too. It could be dangerous, and it sure as hell won't be easy, but I think we should try."
"I'm just—terrified. The past two months have been—chaos. But I remember things. Flashes of things, Bucky. They didn't make me forget on purpose. Not like it was with you. It's all there. In my head. And it's just—so much. I almost killed Russell, and I tried to kill you. The problem isn't that I attacked you. I know you can stop me. The problem is that I wanted to kill you. And I don't ever want to feel like that again."
"You will," he promised. "And the fear won't ever go away. But it's easier to deal with when you don't have to do it alone."
Graham said something similar to me once. He said it was easier for people to help themselves when they knew they were loved. I didn't know for sure if Bucky loved me. I knew he cared about me a great deal. But it was very likely just the result of our shared traumas. I had no proof that it was genuine love. And I couldn't be sure that it was for me either. But if I had to ask myself what I really wanted selfishly, it was that. Impossible, yes. But I wanted to feel as safe as I did when he held me. I wanted to feel it every day. I wanted the freedom to explore what I did feel. To have something in my life that didn't revolve around fear or duty or routine. I didn't want to be alone. I hadn't even planned my trip beyond getting out of the house unnoticed. I didn't even know where the nearest city was. So I dropped my hand from the doorknob.
"If I hurt you—I'll never forgive myself," I told him.
"I know."
"I can't shake the feeling that this is a trap. Like we're doing exactly what they wanted us to do."
"They wanted you to kill me. You haven't done it yet."
"And the—Darkness in me?"
"I don't think it does what you think it does."
"You saw what I did to those people."
"I didn't see anything. I saw the aftermath. And if you really did it—we can find a way for you to control it." He sounded optimistic, but we both knew it was unlikely. And even if I did figure it out, I'd probably kill people first. I'd have to live with that guilt. "Do what you want to do, Jo," he repeated. "Not what you think you have to do. You deserve to have that choice."
I wanted to argue more. But I knew I'd never win. He understood better than anyone. I couldn't. So I stepped away from the door and took the sweater off. I tossed it back onto the chair.
"What should we do?" I asked.
"Once Russell is in the clear, we should head back to Bucharest. I paid for the whole year. He'll be safe here, and we can disappear. No one needs to know where we are."
"Is that what you want?" He looked up again, illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight. I could make out his eyes in the dim light. "You asked me to make a selfish choice despite the risk. I need you to do the same. I don't want to disappear with you if I'm an unwanted burden. I'd rather be Stark's prisoner than make you my prisoner. Don't do this because you feel guilty or responsible. I don't want us to resent each other."
"Jo," he said slowly, testing out the words on his lips. "I feel guilty and responsible because I already acted selfishly. Because I want you." I nodded and kicked my boots off, but then I turned back to the door.
"I'll be downstairs," I informed him.