The Price We Pay for Family - 15

 

Cont...

Sarah broke her fourth teabag, fiddling nervously with the string. She was usually a coffee gal, but after the last few days, the calming effects of chamomile were a welcome change. She'd also learned that after eight cups, it stopped working. 

She dumped the used bag into the trash and rinsed the cup. The leaves from earlier bags were stuck to the bottom, so she had to scrub harder to get it out. Her hands slipped, and the cup dropped out of her hands into the sink with a thunk. 

Sarah inhaled deeply, trying to stop her hands from shaking. They'd been doing that since the boys came back—adrenaline crash. The words floated past from an encounter after a tough mission that resulted in Bucky falling asleep on the floor of her bathroom, not half out of his gear. That's what she was experiencing. It shouldn't be like this. Now that they were safe, she should be happy, relieved even, but all she had was anxiety that wouldn't leave her alone.

They were both asleep in the old office that had transformed into Bucky's room when he was there. They were both safe. They had even insisted they wanted to stay near her and wait till their uncles came home later that night. That night had turned to 2 in the morning.

Sarah made her way over to the office to assure herself her boys were still there. They were tangled up on the blankets together and sound asleep. Sarah felt something in her relax. They were home. Bucky would be soon, and then the world would be right again. Everything would be okay. 

Sarah leaned against the door and looked around the dark room. It had been a hard sell to convince Bucky to stay with them once his lease was up in New York. He'd been convinced he was going to put undue stress on their little family. But Sarah hadn't had it. He was family now, like Riley had been, like Rhodey had been before everything hit the fan. If Sam accepted him, that was good enough for Sarah. 

So the office, which hadn't been an office since Sarah's father had been alive, had been remade into a guest room, Bucky's room. He had made it his, slowly. His journals took up a whole shelf of his bookcase. Three shelves were filled with a whimsical mix of old and new science fiction books. Two others were filled with a mind-boggling collection of textbooks from advanced science to history to warfare. His desk was filled with ethnic cookbooks and encyclopedias of Lord of the Rings and Star Wars to keep up with the boys. The walls had slowly been filled with old black and white photos of friends long gone and sharp digital photos of people in the here and now. Folded flags hanging on the wall for remembrance and cheap photo booth photo strips of the boys and him with cringe filters. Baseball stats pinned to a corkboard, both old and new, next to a shopping list. A record player in the corner and a Bluetooth speaker behind the headboard. And undeniably lived-in space that was uniquely Bucky's. But this fit right into their lives. Home. For him. For them. And for all the journeys they had yet to journey on. 

Sarah leaned against his desk and took it all in as she watched her boys sleep. Yeah, everything was going to be okay. 

"Sarah." Sam's whisper broke any semblance of peace in her. Sarah looked over at him in the doorway, and her stomach dropped out. He looked destroyed. He looks like he did when he came back from Afghanistan without his brother at his side. Sarah knows before he opens his mouth to tell her what's happened.

Sarah pulled the bifold doors closed as she stepped out into the living room, "Sam." Sam, please be wrong. Sam, please don't tell me what I know you're about to. Sam, don't tell me he's gone. Sam PLEASE. But instead of saying any of the things flying through her head, she takes Sam's elbow and guides him to the kitchen. 

He drops like a puppet with his strings cut on the island stool as Sarah shakily pulls their bottle of scotch out from deep under the sink. Her hands shake again, so she doesn't bother pouring it but pops open the bottle and shoves it towards Sam. His hands are shaking too. He gulps down two burning swallows of the liquor. 

"Sam," Sarah whispers. It's as loud as a scream.

 "He's dead." Sam sobs without tears, "He's dead. They killed him." 

Sarah expected a lot of things. She expected grief to hit her. Or anger. Or fear. But she just felt...numb. "What happened?" She doesn't want to know how it happened; she wants to know factually what happened to lead up to this. 

Sam understands, "All they wanted was his blood. As far as they're concerned, he's just a wayward experiment. One who is too costly now. Once they had what they wanted, they killed him." Sam's voice is bitter as he shrugs, "In the end, that's all they see."

 Sarah let out a shuddering breath that seemed to try and stop in her throat, suffocating her. Outside her window, she can see a cop car, stationed there to watch for any other threats, lights off dim cabin light on. Not doing anything, just sitting there. 

She'd had dreams and nightmares about this moment, the moment a police car would drive up and tell her that her boys or even Sam sometimes were gone. It was the world she lived in, one where her family lived in possible danger just because of who they happened to be. 

When Sam had gone into the military, the dream shifted to accommodate the uniformed officer's folded flag. But it had never included Bucky. In all those horrid dreams, her mind had never involved him. But part of her knew his death was more possible than any of her other family members. She can remember that conversation like it was yesterday. 

It had been around the same time of night when she had walked in on him, pulling bullet fragments out of his stomach.

 "Lord almighty, please tell me that's not your blood." Sarah screeched quietly, seeing blood all over his chest and hands.

 "I thought you were sleeping. Did I wake you?" Bucky had the audacity to look concerned for her half-dressed sitting in her bathtub covered in his own blood.

 "What are you doing?" Sarah breathed, closing the door softly behind her.

 "Digging out fragments before my stupid healing closes them in." Bucky huffed, gesturing to a small dish that held bloody metal in it. 

Sarah was trying to decide if the room was spinning because she was going to puke or because she was in shock. She sat on the closed toilet seat quickly before her legs gave out, "What happened?" Sam had assured them they were fine when they got back that afternoon. Said it had been a small job, barely a respectable explosion, and certainly no firefight.

 "I uh had to call on some old contacts for a few leads. I didn't realize they got me until I showered this afternoon." Bucky shrugged, picking up a scalpel and carefully cutting open a wound bigger, "What about you? Why are you up?" 

"Bad dream. Is it infected?" Sarah pulled herself out of her tailspin.

 "Ha, no. I heal too fast for that. No, they're just a pain to get out." Bucky grunted, switching the scalpel for tweezers, sticking them in, and digging for the fragment. 

"Does this happen often?" Sarah finally choked out, watching him pull out another piece of metal. 

"Getting shot? More than you'd think." Bucky put the tweezers down and grabbed a needle and medical thread.

 "No, I know that." Sarah had seen videos. Guns were a favorite weapon of all, "I'm talking about digging them out yourself."

 "Ah, yeah, not as often anymore. Your brother insists on henning me to medical treatment every time." Bucky began sewing the wound shut. 

"And does he know about this?" Sarah asked quietly. 

Bucky hesitated, "No. The bullet hit my arm." He cut the string and grabbed the bandages. He raised his left a bit, "It was a hollow point, so it shattered. He didn't realize. I didn't even realize, the fight happened so fast after." 

"You don't seem very fazed by this. What if it had been infected? Bucky, you could have gotten really hurt!" Sarah said worriedly. 

"Sarah, I'm fine. And if I wasn't, I would have told your brother, okay?" Bucky stopped bandaging his wounds to look at her seriously.

 "You could have gotten killed!" 

"I know. That's why I was there." 

"What?" Sarah reeled like she'd been struck. 

"Wait. Not like that." Bucky cringed at his bad use of words, "I knew who I was meeting. I knew they were going to try and kill me. I wasn't about to put your brother in that situation. I'm really hard to kill if you haven't noticed. I was far safer than your brother or Torres would have been in that situation. People trying to kill me is kinda my life story." 

"That doesn't make it right." Sarah hissed.

 "True. But this is what I have, a few good friends, an unforgiving career, and a laundry list of people who want to kill me." Bucky shrugged, "One day, someone will succeed. I'm just trying to make sure your brother isn't in the crossfire." 

"How can you be so okay with someone coming to kill you?" Sarah found the idea profoundly sad. 

Bucky shrugged, leaning back in the tub, and began bandaging his wounds again, "I don't know. It just happens." 

He'd been so okay with it. And the longer Sarah thought about it, the more it made sense he would have a lot of enemies. But this was the first time that abstract understanding really hit home. 

Sarah let out another harsh breath and grabbed the bottle, gulping down enough to burn her throat. He was gone. This wasn't a dream. She still didn't feel.

"Mama?" AJ's voice quavered, making her turn, "What's wrong?"

 "Come here, baby." Sarah pulled her eldest into her arms. He was getting so tall, soon she wouldn't be able to tuck their limbs together with her sheltering him. Soon he'd be the one wrapping himself protectively around her. But that wasn't today, not yet. So she tucked his head into her neck and held on tight to her not-so-little boy, "We're alright. Everything's gonna be alright." 

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