The Price We Pay for Family - 21

 

Cont...

The pain faded as the months began to pass. They settled into a new rhythm without even noticing. And the raw edges of loss and pain dulled. Sarah hated it. She cried herself to sleep the first day she hadn't thought about him. The first time she instinctively called Carlos or Sam or Torres or anyone, instead of him she'd broken down in an anxiety attack. It was like she was forgetting. Like the presence that had built itself intrinsically into her was gone, and she didn't even notice. Life went on, and plans turned into memories, and more and more, it felt like life was easier, and Sarah screamed into her pillow at night because she was forgetting. She now understood why he said it was so horrible. 

She'd woken up to the sounds of someone retching one night that now felt so long ago and had found him sitting quaking on the cold tile floor of the bathroom downstairs. "Bucky?" She'd pointed her phone flashlight at him, and he'd winced at the glare, so she'd pointed it away, "Are you okay?" 

Bucky had huffed something that had sounded like a distant deranged cousin of a laugh before answering. "No." 

Sarah could hear Sam's voice cautioning her in moments like these with her dangerous but almost helpless lover. Telling her not to get too close, have her phone at the ready, and use her words but not her touch. "Are you sick?"

 "No." He sounded so tired and scared.

 "Do you need me to get you anything?" Sarah asked, concerned at how defeated he looked.

 "No." Bucky shook his head slightly, voice tired but not sleepy, "No. You can go back to bed." 

Sarah took in his quaking sweat-drenched form that didn't look like it could move from the floor even if it wanted to and made a judgment call, "Okay. I'm gonna get you some water, though, for the dehydration." He hadn't responded to that as she'd hurried over to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. She'd come back and handed him one of the bottles only to watch him clumsily fumble with the lid in frustration. "Here." Before she had time for her brother's voice to talk her out of it, Sarah knelt down and opened the bottle for him. 

"Thanks." Bucky rasped before downing half the bottle in one go.

 "Are you sure you're okay like this?" Sarah asked, concerned.

 Bucky leaned his head against the doorframe and closed his eyes, letting out breathy chuckles, "No." 

"Okay." Sarah turned off the flashlight and put the brightness of her phone all the way up, and put it face up in between them, "I can stay." 

The glow of her phone bathed them in an eerie glow that made him look even more haggard. He opened his eyes and tried to smile at her, "Thanks."

Sarah nodded, "Always." 

He finished his water bottle, and Sarah wordlessly gave him the other one she was originally going to keep. 

"I keep dreaming about forgetting." He said solemnly, "It's horrible." 

"How so?" Sarah asked, genuinely interested. 

"With the blood and the death, that's tangible. Stoppable. Something you can fix, or face, or apologize for, at least. The forgetting," He shook his head ever so slightly, "There's nothing for that." 

Sarah silently mourned for all the things that he was forever missing in his life, in his mind, "I'm sorry."

 "And it's not just my first life either." He continued like he hadn't heard her. He might not have. "It's the things in this life too. The exact color the sky turns during a Wakandan sunset," He closed his eyes like he could see it if he focused, "Beautiful." He opened his eyes, and they were still scared, still frightened, "The exact type of plums I used to get in Bucharest. Small things. Tiny moments. Things that make me me just, gone."

 "That must be scary," Sarah said softly, rubbing his knuckles.

 "It's not even forced this time. It's not their fault. It's me." Bucky said, letting out a sob, "I'm forgetting. And I don't know what I'll be if I do." 

Sarah slid closer and gently wrapped her arms around him as he cried,  "I know that's scary. But that's natural. Your brain gives up small things so it can make way for new memories. The colors of a sunset are ever-changing. What makes them special is the emotions you feel when seeing them. Happiness. Peace. The exact type of fruit can change, but the fact you're doing something for you does not. These things aren't being forgotten. They've served their purpose to help you, and they'll grow into something better. The color the night sky is here when the fireflies come out. The taste of the ice tea from the restaurant that is somehow too sweet for you. Things like that. You change. Your memories change with you." 

He'd stopped crying slowly, and the quaking had stopped as the fear drained out, "I'm not sure I want to."

"No one ever is." Sarah said, gently pulling away so she could look at him, "But it still happens. Often when you're not looking for it." 

Bucky closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, "You make it sound so simple." 

"Simple, yes. Easy? No. When we are young, we call it growing up, the state of ever-changing. But when we're adults, we stop calling it that. We stop calling it anything. But you can still see it. I blink, and it feels like my boys have jumped from babies to men. Just wait; you'll see it too." Sarah said, gently pushing his damp hair out of his eyes. He would need to cut it soon before the weight brought more memories.

 "I just want the world to stand still for a moment. Is that too much to ask?" Bucky whispered.

 "Oh, Bucky." Sarah pulled him close again, "The thing about change is that it doesn't matter if it's good or bad. It still happens." She rubbed circles on his back as he controlled his breathing.

 "I'm not ready." Bucky said quietly, "I'm not ready to change yet." 

"Okay." Sarah agreed, thinking of how this felt oddly reminiscent of comforting her boys in times of distress, "We can make it wait." And they'd sat like that a long time till he was ready to go back to bed.

 It had seemed so trivial to get then. Forgetting the little things. She'd seen why it had freaked him out so much, but for her, she didn't see the problem. Now she did. She couldn't remember the exact shade his eyes turned when he was happy. Only the color when he was sad. Couldn't remember what he hummed under his breath when he made the boys lunch. Only what he twirled her to when the boys were asleep. They were still good memories, but now they were forever incomplete, and it scared her. All she had now was a mental image of a smiling man with sad eyes. What happened when she forgot forever?

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