She feels like she's moving through molasses, or trying to anyway. There's something sticking her in the arm, awkwardly poking her. But she can't seem to budge to get at it. Even her lids move slowly, heavily, as she tries to blink her eyes open.
"Tessa?" she hears coming from somewhere nearby. The voice is familiar, but she can't quite make it out entirely, not through the wooshing sound echoing in her ears. "Baby," she hears again, this time a bit closer. "Wake up, doll." And she can feel his thick, warm breath on her face.
Her eyes flutter for a moment more before the lids finally part, just enough for her to realize that it's too damn bright. Wherever she is, it is too damn bright. She squints and lets out a pained, pathetic moan that she had no intention of doing. What is going on? she thinks. But when she tries to ask, another small moan is all that slips past her lips.
His hand is on her face then, and she absently curls into the smooth, cool metal. Feels so good. "Friday, dim the lights," she hears him say before, "Try again, baby. Open your eyes."
This time it's a little easier, even though her lids still feel so damn heavy. She opens them and looks up into his anxious face, his forehead creased with worry, blue eyes dulled from some weighty burden. Uh oh, is all she can think as she desperately tries to get her bearings. "What," she's finally able to eke out, and her voice sounds so gravely and raw that she almost doesn't recognize it as her own.
He gives her a small smile and she feels him squeeze her hand with his flesh and bone one. "You… passed out," he says to her, the words catching in his throat.
She looks at him, confusion written all over her face. "Am I sick?" she breathes out.
He lets out a little laugh, but there's no smile in his eyes, just concern. "Yeah, baby," he says, his face just inches from hers. "Yeah, you're sick." He lays a quick kiss on her forehead and continues to loom over her even as he sits, his hip pressing firmly into hers on the bed. "But your fever's down, and that's a good sign."
"I'm sick," she repeats, not sure why. "I have a fever."
"You're gonna be fine," he says, his face set in that no-nonsense, that's an order way that he only gets when something is very serious and very important to him. He lets out a sigh and pulls back just a bit, his hand dropping from her face. She can actually feel the heat building back up in her cheek without his palm there to stave it off. "How do you feel?" he asks her.
She closes her eyes tightly for a moment and scrunches up her face, trying to find the words. All she can come up with though is, "Crappy."
This time when he laughs it sounds a little lighter, a bit more genuine, and that makes her feel a bit lighter too. You worry too much, she tells him all the time. But he never listens.
He holds her gaze for a long moment before saying softly, "You scared me, doll. You really scared me."
She furrows her brow a bit, suddenly realizing – fully realizing – that she doesn't remember getting sick. Or having a fever. She doesn't remember feeling bad at all, actually. In fact, the last thing she does remember feeling is… powerful. And – for the first time in a long time – in control. Because of what she and Wanda had done to Atkinson… yes, that's right. That's the last thing that she clearly recalls… mind-fucking Sarah Atkinson into oblivion.
Had she pushed a bit too far? She doesn't remember feeling that way while they were in the thick of it. But still… did she simply overdo it? "I'm sorry," she mutters with a long sigh, finally managing to reposition her arm enough to alleviate the sharp poking.
"Yeah," he breathes out, rising from the edge of the bed and taking half a step back to allow her the space to move.
She lets out another soft – utterly unintended – moan as she twists to look down at her arm, at the large IV taped tightly in place. Odd, she thinks, raising a brow. It's not strange that she has an IV, no that makes sense. She was probably dehydrated, running around all day and then overdoing it with her powers like she must've done. And if she has a fever especially. Yes, that all makes sense. But why is there tape wrapped all along her forearm to hold in it place? Had she been combative? Or…
"Wait," she says suddenly, peering up at Bucky and only just now noticing that he looks like he hasn't shaved in a while. "How long," she starts to ask, shifting her too sore body to try and sit upright. He places his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back down into the pillows behind her. "What – " she utters, blinking rapidly as she looks around the room.
He sees the panic rising in her face, and he quickly sits down next to her on the bed again, his hands no longer just holding her down, but instead rubbing soft, soothing circles along her upper arms. "It's okay," he tells her, a desperate edge to his voice. "It's alright."
"No," she whimpers, trying to turn in his grasp. A flood of emotion hits her – fear and dread and unease. It sinks into her gut, fizzles through her core, tugs tightly at her chest as she tries to breathe. "No… I'm… What's going on?"
Bucky continues to shush her, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at the heart monitor, which is speeding up like crazy. I'm hooked up to a monitor, she realizes, causing the beeping to pick up the pace even more. "Tessa," he says tersely, his fingers digging into her shoulders a bit as he tries to bring her back around. "Hey."
"Why?" she manages to breath out through near gasps. Oh crap, am I having a panic attack? she thinks. Is that what this is? "What the fuck?" she squeaks out then.
"Calm down," he says slowly. "You're okay. I promise, baby. You're gonna be fine."
She looks at him with wide eyes and wills herself to calm down. But things just feel crazy. And out of control. Her mind is spinning. She honestly can't remember the last time she felt this way. If ever. "What happened?" she asks, thinly veiled panic lacing her words.
Bucky takes in a deep breath and looks into her eyes. "You remember what happened," he starts, clearing his throat before going on to hesitantly utter, "with Atkinson?"
She nods – "Yeah." – and looks sheepishly away. "You know?"
He nods as well, his features pulling tight, lips pinching together in a straight, firm line.
"Don't be mad," she blurts out, anxiety rising once again in her chest. "I knew what I was doing. And it was the best thing. And I did it for you too. For us," the words rush out of her in a flurry, each slamming into the next.
He shakes his head slowly, face transforming into a deep frown. He lets go of her shoulder and brings his fingers up to tuck her hair behind her ear before giving her a soft, sad smile. "You had a seizure." He stops and takes a long, deep breath. "You came home and you were… really out of it," he says with a hint of a laugh. "I didn't even get the chance to tell you how mad I was. You just…" He shakes his head again, the scowl melting away as his brows twist and pull together, a look of utter bewilderment taking over as he recalls what happened. "You weren't making any sense. And you were… so pale. And cold." His gray-blue eyes lock back onto hers as his fingers continue idly toying with a long lock of her hair. "You passed out and I tried to wake you up. And your skin was just… icy."
"But," she interrupts, confused grimace building. "I… I have a fever."
"Yeah," he nods. "Now you do. But then…" He shrugs and lets out a long, averting sigh. "Anyway. You passed out, wouldn't wake up. And then," He shakes his head lamentingly. "Just after we got you to medical, you had a seizure."
Her heart rate begins to slow as she focuses on his face, and on controlling her breathing.
"The fever came later," he says with another shrug. She can tell that he's putting on a brave face, trying to keep her from seeing just how worried he really was, trying to keep her from panicking any more than she already is. Especially when he says, "Fever's probably not the right word. Your temperature's just been… a little unpredictable. Everything has been, I guess." He looks away, gazing at the wall just past her. "Bruce says your hormone levels are all out of whack again. Or, I don't know… still."
"How long was I seizing?" she asks, the doctor in her coming out to assess the situation.
"I don't know." He shakes his head and looks back down at her, offers a small, somber smile. He was here when it happened, she's sure of that. There's no way he would've left her side. But he probably doesn't really know how long it went on. To him, it was probably an eternity even if it was no more than a moment.
"What's my temp now?"
"I don't know, baby," he says, fatigue lacing his words. "Bruce should be here soon. I called him when it looked like you were waking up. It was around 101 a few hours ago… before he went to get some sleep."
She shifts to her side, curling around him where he sits on the bed. Her nerves are finally starting to settle. The heady panic that had wrapped around her chest, constricting it so tight she couldn't breathe, is all but gone, waning with a strange yet welcome rapidity. She takes his left hand in hers, clasps it between both of her clammy, shaky hands. "When are you gonna get some sleep?" she asks, her voice sounding very nearly stable.
"When you come back home." He flashes that weak smile again, and it just about breaks her heart.
"Hey," they hear from the doorway, both turning to see Bruce peer into the room. "You're awake," he says softly, entering slowly, cautiously, as though he might spook her.
Bucky pivots on the bed, following Bruce with his eyes as he moves into the room. "Yeah. She was just asking what her temp is."
"Well," he says, approaching the bedside opposite Bucky. "Let's see." He pulls a thermometer out of the pocket of his lab coat and runs it across her forehead. "101.7," he says with a hint of enthusiasm. "Not great, but holding steady at least."
"James said I had a seizure." She closes her eyes briefly, a wave of dizziness suddenly hitting as she tries to think of what she was about to ask. "But he didn't say how long…"
Bruce just nods, his brow furrowing as he looks her over. "How are you feeling?" he asks as he begins to examine her.
He's palpating her glands, forcing her chin up to an odd angle when she responds, "Not great."
"Crappy is what she said before you got here," Bucky mentions, deep frown pulling at his features.
"Any nausea, dizziness?" he asks, now shining a pen light in her eyes.
"Yeah," she pulls away squinting. Too bright. "Some."
"Sensitivity to light?" he inquires, noting her reaction.
"How long have I been out?"
Bruce looks over at Bucky. "You didn't tell her?" He gives a quick shake of his head in response.
"How long?" she asks again, sensing their hesitancy.
"Four days. A little more. You were in and out," Bruce says before whipping around to dig through a cabinet beside him. He comes back with a blood pressure cuff and starts to take a reading.
"Four days with a fever how high?" she asks, sounding just a bit confrontational.
He finishes the reading. "Your pressure's good. Still a little low, but better."
"Bruce…"
He sighs and sets the cuff and stethoscope aside. "It fluctuated a lot. Up and down every few hours or so. From around 96 up to 105."
"Jesus," she breathes out, eyes going wide.
"But it's leveling out now, right?" Bucky asks hopefully. "It hasn't gone above 102 for the past day. So that means we're turning a corner, right?"
Tessa seems not to hear him and instead continues to question Bruce. "Is there organ damage?" she asks, thinking hard about just how exactly she feels. "I'm sore," she says, almost to herself, "but…"
"You were in adrenal crisis when you came in. That's probably why your muscles are sore." He shrugs a bit. "That and the seizure."
Her eyes widen. "My kidney?" she asks, knowing exactly how bad underperforming adrenals could be for her one remaining kidney. "If it fails…"
Bucky's hand tightens around hers as he says simply, "Don't think about that right now."
"He's right." Bruce nods. "Renal function's not great at the moment, but it's also not terrible. We'll keep monitoring you."
She relaxes only a bit at his words, still troubled by just how overly anxious she feels. Not that this isn't news to be nervous about, sure. But still… there's just something about this that feels different. Off. It's as though her mind is clear, yet it's also somehow… ravaged. Which is when it dawns on her… "James said my hormones are all out of whack again? Is that… is this…" She stares heatedly at the doctor and tries to pull in a deep, stilling breath as that same panic from moments before rises up inside of her again. "Adrenaline?"
"Yeah," Bruce mutters with a frown as he pulls a small tablet out of the oversized pocket on his pristine, white coat. "It's weird. Cortisol and aldosterone…" without looking up from her chart, he gives a dramatic thumbs down. "But epinephrine and norepinephrine have been all over the place. It's like your adrenal glands have, well," he glances up at her, "lost their damn mind." His eyes tick back down to peruse her chart for a moment longer, scrolling back to see her bloodwork from the past. "In the few days prior to this… event, everything was trending down… Cortisol, ADH, TSH. We thought it was good… hoped that it meant things were leveling out. Then they completely tanked." He looks up at her over the rims of his glasses. "You were worried about a rebound effect…"
"Cool," she breathes out as her eyes slowly close, the rush of adrenaline once again fading and leaving behind a bone-deep sort of exhaustion in its wake. "Great. Wonderful."
Bucky lets out a frustrated huff from her right, at least some of the worry he'd been paralyzed by the past few days beginning to melt away now that she's awake and with it. But without the concern to level him out, his deeply buried frustration begins to crest. "I can't believe you went to do… whatever the hell they had you do in there," he mutters through increasingly clenched teeth. "You were supposed to be resting, recovering…"
Bruce shrugs, seemingly oblivious to the growing tension in the room, and pipes up with, "Wanda said she wanted to do it."
"I did," Tessa states, a defiant edge to her voice.
"And she said she'd never seen her so in control of her powers," he continues before glancing down at her and raising an appraising eyebrow. "She said you were strong."
The corners of Tessa's mouth tick up the slightest bit, the compliment obviously coming not just from Wanda but from Bruce as well, if the seemingly proud twinkle in his eye says anything. But the small smile disappears from her face completely when she gets a swift hit of angry energy from the man at her side. "She wasn't strong," Bucky argues, his tone turning dangerous, voice raising slightly in both volume and pitch. "She was still recovering. She was sleeping 14 hours a day. She hadn't even started eating food more solid than scrambled eggs."
Tessa frowns deeply. She wants to argue, even sifts through any and all possible rebuttals in her mind. But no words come out. No defiant denials nor angry assertions are – or can be – made. He's right. She hates it… hates being weak more than anything. But the truth is, as much as Wanda had helped her to see that she might be able to control the power inside her mind, her body was still – excruciatingly slowly – trying to regain its potency.
Bruce doesn't refute him either, not really. Hell, he's the one who insisted on still giving her a checkup twice a day after releasing her from medical. But he does make the point that, "This all probably would've happened anyway. I don't think this has anything to do with her powers. I think it's all about whatever it is they did to her hypothalamus."
Bucky nearly growls, staring at the man on the opposite side of his wife's hospital bed. "You're telling me that what she did to Atkinson didn't cause this at all?" Bruce looks over at him, but says nothing. "You're saying that it's all just one big fucking coincidence?"
A pensive expression rolls over his face. "Not necessarily."
"Trader," Tessa mumbles weakly from the bed.
"Acute adrenal crisis often follows a stressful event."
"My current life situation is stressful event," she intones, narrowing her eyes dangerously at the doctor.
"Extreme physical stress," he counters blandly. "And I don't think even you can deny that day was a particularly stressful day. And he's right," he states, ticking his chin in Bucky's direction. "You should've been resting… recovering. I do think this all probably would've happened anyway, but that doesn't mean the events of that day didn't accelerate the inevitable. And, yeah, it could've sent you into crisis."
She shakes her head and lets out an exhausted-sounding huff. "Doesn't really matter now anyway. What's done is done. And now I'm…" She trails off, ending with a frustrated sigh.
Bruce collapses heavily into a chair near the foot of her bed and rubs viciously at his face, displacing his glasses to force the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I just… I don't know what's causing it. Any of it." He drops the tablet into his lap and throws his hands up in a helpless gesture. "If we knew… if we had some idea – any idea – about what they did to stimulate your hypothalamus… how they might've damaged it… maybe then we could get some idea of how to fix it."
"Do some more imaging," she suggests. "They must've… implanted something. If they were stimulating it with electricity, then there must've been electrodes. Even if they removed them…"
"How could they have removed anything?" Bucky asks, slowly narrowing his eyes contemplatively. "You took off in the middle of a… procedure."
Bruce cocks his head curiously at Tessa. "You really don't remember anything about it? No recollection of any kind of procedure to implant them or… anything?"
She shakes her head dully. "A lot's still pretty fuzzy. But… no. I got nothing."
"Well," he mutters with a sigh. "Until we figure it out, we'll just have to focus on treatment."
"I'm assuming you've already started steroids?"
"Do you think you'd be conscious right now if I hadn't?" he asks with a bit of a bite.
She gives him a suspicious look. "Let me see those results."
He rises from his chair and drops the tablet onto the seat – well out of her desperate reach. "I thought we talked about you trusting me," he intones with a judgmental stare.
"I do trust you. I just trust myself more."
He raises a single, smug brow. "Well, you know, you probably wouldn't be in this situation right now if you'd just continued resting like I told you to."
"You can't blame the victim," she complains, her voice bordering on shrill. She turns to Bucky, who's still sitting uncomfortably still, face cloaked in apprehension, by her side. "Tell him it's not my fault."
Bucky remains silent, momentarily chewing on the corner of his lip as he thinks. Ignoring his wife's mocking plea, he turns his attention back to Bruce. "What happens if you can't figure out what's causing this? You said…" His eyes tick briefly down to Tessa as he seems to contemplate whether or not to go on. "You said before that there might be permanent damage. That they might've just… fried her system? And that's what happened to… to Kitty, right? And the others? That's what killed them?"
He nods slowly, cautiously. "I think so, yes. But I highly doubt that they had any kind of supportive care. I can't say what might ultimately happen. But for now…" He looks over at Tessa. "We're just going to have to keep a really close watch on… well, everything. Sounds like you were feeling the swings in epinephrine. And your TSH has been all over the place, which is probably why your temp keeps fluctuating."
"And why I'm on the monitor," she says casually, flipping a thumb towards the heart monitor to her right.
He nods. "As you know," he starts, looking briefly back up at Bucky, "you too," he mentions, making sure that Tessa realizes he's already debriefed her non-doctor husband on this as well. "The problem is that the hypothalamus is pretty much in charge of everything. It controls the pituitary, which controls the thyroid and the adrenal glands… it's all connected. Biggest concern right now is getting your thyroid under control to level out your temperature and prevent any additional, well, anything. That and the adrenal insufficiency. If we don't get your cortisol and aldosterone levels in check…"
She waves a dismissive hand in front of him. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Adrenal crisis… muscle weakness and fatigue, low blood pressure, weight loss, hypoglycemia, seizures, kidney failure, shock…" Her voice trails off before she can get to coma and death, and she pulls in a deep breath, blowing it back out in a long, almost despondent-sounding sigh. "I know. I get it. But… I don't want to focus on the worst case scenarios."
"Since when?" Bucky mocks under his breath.
Tessa goes eerily silent, her gaze dropping down to her lap where her fingers weave together and begin to slowly tug at one another. "IV fluids," she mutters absently. "Steroids. Maintenance of additional hormone levels." A swift nod and a long, deep breath are followed by what almost seems to be an edict from the frail-looking woman. "Wait for things to level out, then, at minimum, 48 additional hours under continuous observation in a hospital setting." She glances up at Bruce, gets a quick nod of approval, and then turns a rather guilty look on Bucky. "Sorry, babe."
His countenance breaks, the stern, worried expression turning into a soft and tender smile. He shakes his head and issues out a deep sigh. "What's a few more days?" he offers with a shrug before sidling down the bed next to her and pulling her to his chest.
000
As it turns out, a few more days is, well… a lot.
Granted, a fair amount had happened in the four days that Tessa was unconscious. Steve and Tony, along with an astoundingly helpful Bobby – Can we keep him? Stark had pleaded – took off to investigate the address pulled from Atkinson's memories. And on the way, they dropped the confused and oddly renewed blonde off in her new home outside of Albuquerque. Once rid of the dead weight, they were able to focus all of their energy on finding as much evidence as possible to help piece together the increasingly worrisome puzzle that is Lobe.
The address turned out to be a warehouse, filled to the brim with decades-old files. It was, they gathered, the final resting place of all data gathered by Department H. But that wasn't all. It took little more than a day of Vision and Natasha hacking into and filtering through the old computer systems for them to find that much of the info stored there came from similar agencies around the world. There were files on enhanced individuals from China and various mid-east countries, all from organizations that none of them – including Bobby who was raised to be well-versed in mutant history – had ever heard of before. There were files from research projects – awful, heinous projects that rivaled what was going on in Canada today – that had been conducted in the sixties and seventies in northern Africa. And then there were the documents marked with that terribly recognizable insignia – the tentacled skull – that Natasha knew at once had been compiled by Hydra.
All of this was… fascinating. Of course it was. And they had every intention of going through all of the intel gathered at this site. All 5,204 dusty boxes of brittle papers and 74 separate computer hard drives. They undoubtably had discovered a treasure-trove of information on the mutant – and inhuman as well as otherwise enhanced – struggle of the past century. But right now, they had bigger, more immediate concerns.
The moment they realized just how many different nations and organizations had contributed to this stash of information was the moment that everything changed. No longer were they simply on the hunt for a crazy money-grubbing bald man who had somehow convinced the Canadian government to fund his newfangled super soldier program. No, what they were looking at now was a vast international effort to do something with mutantkind. To keep tabs on them. To imprison them. To experiment on them. And, perhaps, to eradicate them.
"I feel like I should be more surprised than I am," Tessa mutters blandly once Bobby finishes updating her on the goings-on of the past week.
He collapses back into the barely padded chair by her bedside and lets out a long sigh. "Yeah. Me too."
"And there's still nothing on any of the X-Men?" She asks, tone hesitant.
He shakes his head swiftly, but says nothing.
"I was thinking…" He looks up as she trails off, his bright blue eyes shining with hope just from her mere utterance of having been thinking of something… anything. It's plainly obvious that right now he'll take anything. She clears her throat and pulls herself up a bit straighter in the bed. "I was thinking that maybe I could… once I'm officially released… maybe we could head up to the school."
He huffs out a forlorn breath and shakes his head. "We already went. There wasn't anything there. And the place had been ransacked, probably months ago. Not sure by who," he states with a disappointed shrug.
She nods slowly. "Guess that's not surprising." And then she swallows hard and sets her shoulders. "I was thinking, though… that maybe I could try using Cerebro. See if I could… reach out and find them."
Bobby's eyes blow wide for a fraction of a second before his entire face twists into a bizarrely amused expression and he begins laughing wildly.
Tessa frowns. "What? It's not that crazy," she defends. "I know I'm not technically a telepath, but… Professor Xavier always said, energy is everything."
He chokes down a final chortle and stares at her. "It's not crazy, Nova," he intones with a cheeky sort of grin. "It's downright fucking insane."
"It is not!" She shifts in the bed, her IV pulling as she petulantly crosses her arms over her chest. "He said that he's… felt me before. That my energy has reached out to him. And not just to the Professor. To others too. I know I can do that. And the whole point of Cerebro is that it enhances your natural abilities."
"Telepathic abilities," he interrupts pointedly. "Of which you have none."
She narrows her eyes threateningly at him. "Telepathy is just about sensing energy emitted on a different wavelength."
"Well, you definitely operate on a different wavelength," he mocks thickly. The wide smile begins to slip from his face, his head shaking slowly. "Nova, even if you could use it, you've never been trained. And what was the one thing that Professor X always told us about Cerebro?"
Her scowl quickly morphs into a sulky pout. "That we should never go near it."
"That's right," he says deliberately, once again leaning back in the chair. "It's too dangerous. And besides, I don't want your big scary boyfriend breaking me in half for even letting you think something like this might be a good idea."
"Husband," she corrects without thinking, her brow twisting immediately after. She glances up from her lap, petulant pout forgotten as she takes in his wide-eyed stare and gaping mouth. "I didn't tell you that?"
"Uh, no," he intones harshly. "I think I'd remember if you told me you got married."
"Oh," she mutters before letting out a long, deep sigh. "Well, yeah, James and I are married."
"Since when?" he asks, voice taking on an excited edge.
"Since…" Her forehead crinkles in thought. "August?"
"Well," he breathes out, crooked smile on his face. "Congratulations, I guess." Then his countenance quickly shifts, face taking on a dark pallor. "How long were you married before… before you got taken?"
"Just a few weeks," she replies lightly despite having to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing up at the thought.
Bobby dips his head, a barely perceptible nod being the only indication that he's heard her. They sit in silence for a long moment before he lets out a slight laugh, the smallest – though steadily growing – chuckle. "Nova got married," he mumbles almost to himself. He shakes his head leisurely back and forth and raises his gaze to meet hers. "Thought you said it was never gonna happen," he teases coyly.
She merely shrugs. "Never much saw the point."
"Yeah, no shit. Because you kept getting involved with assholes."
"Wasn't John your best friend?" she asks, narrowing her eyes accusingly as she inquires about her first love.
He snorts. "For like a minute when we were twelve. Then he turned into a huge dick."
Tessa's gaze drifts off, her voice almost wistful when she utters, "You think he's okay out there now?" When she looks back at Bobby, his face is covered in a thoughtful expression, brow furrowed in deliberation. "I mean… we never even thought about them, right? Or… did you? Did you ever try to find anyone from the Brotherhood?"
He shakes his head. "No. Like you said, never even thought about it. But… we are all on the same side, right? Now?"
"Xavier and Magneto, they used to be close." Her eyes widen with a swift and startling revelation. "You think the Professor would've gone to him? Maybe they're together now."
Bobby's chin bobs up and down as he struggles to find words. "I… I guess… they could be."
Tessa leans forward, as far as her tight, under-used hamstrings will allow. "So how do we find them?" she asks quickly. "How do we get in contact with the Brotherhood?"
He looks up at her cautiously, a knowing glimmer growing in his bright blue eyes. "I have John's info," he says simply, carefully. "We sort of… met up for coffee a couple years ago."
Her brows shoot up. "You went for coffee? With John? Pyro?"
He shrugs, faux nonchalance oozing off of him. "He called. Said he wanted to make amends." He chances a quick glance up at her unreadable expression. "Pretty sure he was doing the twelve steps, you know? Although he did say he was sober when he tried to kill me during that mission in Alberta."
"Why were so many of our shittiest times in Canada?" she asks vaguely before shaking her head and sighing. "Not a shock that he turned out to be a drunk, though. We got wasted a lot."
"Yeah," he drawls out with a snicker. "Ever think you might have a problem too?"
"Why does everybody keep accusing me of being an alcoholic? I can't even remember the last time I had a drink."
"Yeah, but you were – you know – being tortured or whatever for the last few months. So that doesn't really count." She glares daggers at him, causing a deep chuckle to bellow from his chest. "This is a good idea," he states through the lingering laughter. He nods conclusively – "I'll find John, see if he knows anything." – and rises from the uncomfortable chair with a grimace and a stretch. "You," he intones, aiming a pointed finger at her, "don't go anywhere near Cerebro. In fact, don't leave this compound."
"Excuse me?" she bites out, spite filling the words.
He gives her a solemn look, eyes filled once again with the haziness of loss, of grief. "You're all I have left, Nova," he says simply, dropping his hand down and gathering her fingers into his.
She turns her hand in his grasp and gives him a firm squeeze. "We'll find them, Bobby. I'm not all you have. Our family's not gone. Not all of them, anyway." She struggles to give him a small, reassuring smile. "One way or another, we'll find them."
Still pretty bleak, huh? Well, I thought I'd give you a little preview of some fun to come to help alleviate all this darkness...
The two walk side by side in steady strides towards the rear of the shop, heading down an aisle bursting with reds and pinks – festive stuffed animals, cutesy mugs and socks, and obnoxious trinkets galore. Sam swipes at the paw of a giant white teddy bear hanging precariously over the side of a shelf. "You believe all this stuff?" he asks, earning no more than an evasive grunt in response. "Valentine's Day," he breathes out with a heady scoff before leaning over and grabbing a small heart-shaped box of chocolates from another shelf. "Ooo, turtles."
Bucky glances back at him with an amused smirk. "Buying those for yourself?"
"'Course," he says with a shrug. "Why not? I'm worth it."
A short chuckle escapes him, shudders his shoulders a bit as he shakes his head. "Sure you are," he intones under his breath.
"What are you doing for Tessa anyway?" he asks vaguely, suddenly distracted by an even bigger box of caramel-pecan candies.
Bucky's feet still, stopping short to wait for Sam to finish his investigation. "What do you mean?"
He throws a confused glance over his shoulder. "What do you mean, what do I mean?" Bucky just pulls his face into a confounded – and irritated – scowl. "For Valentine's Day," he shoots out as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Oh," he utters simply. "Yeah. We don't do that."
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