Absolute Gravity

When I opened my eyes, Bucky was staring back at me. We were lying facing each other in our bed in Romania. His hair was swept back off his face, and even though newspapers dimmed the windows, the light was bright enough to make the blue in his eyes sharp and vibrant. His chest was bare and covered in slashes of jagged scars. His metal hand, which used to be a weapon, reached out to sweep my hair back off my neck. As gentle and lovingly as if made from flesh and bone.

"Morning, birthday girl," he said. I smiled and lifted my hand to grip his metal fingers. His eyes looked so lazy and content in the dim light.

Off.

Wrong.

False.

I shut my eyes.

"What is this?" I asked.

"A memory, Jo. They're all memories."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I have to keep you safe." I took a deep breath and sighed. Then I opened my eyes again. I just wanted to see him—one last time before the end.

"You're dead," I told him. "I saw—what Thanos did. To all of you." He took my face in his hands, gripping me harder than he had in the actual memory. His eyes looked fierce. Not uncanny. Not frighteningly empty like they were just moments before.

"You have to wake up," he said. "I'm here. I'm alive."

I woke up gasping. I bolted upright in bed in Malibu. Alone. I breathed through the painful lump in my throat, tried to push my heart back to a reasonable rate, and shut my eyes against the sting of tears.

He's dead.

He's alive.

I didn't understand.

But he was dead. Thanos wiped out half of all life.

He was alive. We'd been separated. I was just in Malibu.

This was before.

I heard voices in the other room. The memory of his eyes, so present and alive, began to fade. The memory of his death—so recent, so sharp—dissipated like a bad dream. It wasn't real. Not yet. The present memory forced itself into the forefront of my brain.

I pulled myself out of bed slowly, letting my body adjust back to the present memory and not the past one. The one that was wrong. Changed. Then I shuffled into the living room to see who the hell was waking me up from a long-overdue nap.

The entire living room was splattered with ribbons, streamers, and balloons. A pile of gifts was waiting on the table on my side of the glass. Clara, Dana, Tony's assistant, and a bunch of other people Clara worked with were setting things up. Also Graham. But he looked uncomfortable in the corner. He was probably the only person besides my sister and aunt who knew I didn't want this. But unlike them, he didn't want to force me into it anyway.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, motioning toward all the glitter and party decorations.

"It's your birthday party," Clara said like that wasn't obvious.

"No shit."

"Go get dressed. You can't have a birthday party in sweatpants."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I don't want this." I turned to stomp away with every intention of going right back to bed. I'd rather deal with painful memories than this. And if there was one good thing about this situation, it's that no one could follow me.

"There are cupcakes!" Clara said before I could turn the corner. I stopped in my tracks and turned back around slowly.

"What kind?"

"Chocolate. The kind from the box and not the grocery store. I know you don't like those. They have chocolate frosting. The kind from a can. And sprinkles. The crunchy sugar ones you like. Everything was made by Graham and me and Betty Crocker."

"I only helped a little," Graham said. "Mostly just handing her things. And I went overboard with the sugar sprinkles, but Clara said you like them crunchy anyway, you weirdo. Who likes crunchy cupcakes?" I immediately returned to the sitting room.

"Where?"

"I won't give you any unless you participate," she threatened. I crossed my arms over my chest, and she did the same. We had a stare-down. She was playing dirty. And usually, I wouldn't have fallen for it. But I'd been virtually snack-free for months, and it was driving me nuts. "If you sit, I'll even let you have some soda. We also brought pizza."

"Two sodas and as much pizza and cupcakes as I want."

"Jo, they're really not good for your health." She noticed my expression. A clear warning. "Fine. Two sodas and as many cupcakes and pizza as you want. It's your birthday."

"I want leftovers too."

"Jo."

"Clara." She sighed.

"Fine. Deal."

"Deal." I dropped back onto the couch with no intention of changing out of my sweatpants.

I'd been to my fair share of terrible birthday parties, but this one really took the cake. Mainly because there was a giant glass wall between the rest of the party and me. I sat alone on my side while Clara took care of all the fun stuff on the other. They played games, drank champagne, ate food, and chatted like friends. I only participated when they handed over my snacks in the adjoining room.

It wasn't entirely their fault that I was left out of all the fun. They did try in their own ways. But I stubbornly refused. And since Graham wasn't all that enthusiastic about party games, he sat closest to me. We occasionally made matching groans when he was forced to join in. He won a candle during a game, which he immediately gave me because he decided it was too flowery and made him sneeze.

And then we finally got down to gifts, and I was forced to be the center of attention again. I went through them quickly, hoping to bring this shindig to an end a little faster. The ones from Clara's friends were the standard gifts I'd expect from people who didn't actually know me. Candles, gift cards, more candles. And okay, one single-serve coffee maker from Tony's assistant that was actually nice, and I'd definitely use it. But she did enough shopping for Tony that she knew what I liked. Graham's gift turned out to be a hot pink butterfly knife.

"Graham!" Clara scolded as I began to flip the blade back and forth. It was the first time I'd really smiled all afternoon, aside from the one time they gave me an extra crunchy cupcake.

"What?" he innocently replied. He was sunk into the white leather couch cushions, holding a decorative pillow like a shield, bored out of his mind.

"I thought we said no weapons as gifts. I thought we agreed on the earrings?"

"She doesn't even wear earrings."

"This is my favorite gift," I remarked, flipping the blade between my fingers.

"You told me to get her something useful and practical. Maybe a little fun. Earrings don't fit that description. But she loves pink knives. The more sparkly, the better, right?" She groaned, unable to come up with an argument because I did, in fact, love pink knives. And I did have a preference for the glittery ones.

"Thanks, Graham. I really appreciate it," I told him. I still had the pink knife Sam gave me, but there was something fun about flipping a butterfly knife between my fingers. Bucky had one. Of course he did. He had tons of them. But I'd always gravitate toward the butterfly knife whenever we practiced in the woods together. It felt more like a dance.

"No problem. I got you. I knew you'd like it."