The Hurt And The Healing: Bucky X OC

Chapter Thirty Nine: Meant To Survive

TW: Reference to suicidal ideation, medical descriptions of injuries​​

Patience had never been one of Mara's virtues. As she stared out the window into the dark night, eyes scanning the road for any sign of movement, the voice of Sister Agatha rang through her mind. "The patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit," the nun would say, ruler in hand to rap Mara's knuckles in case she gave a sarcastic response, which happened almost every time someone quoted scripture to her. Thousand year old words translated dozens of times into palatable aphorisms did nothing for her. Action. That's what helped Mara. Something to do while the seconds hand spun around the clock.

Nonna had never been one for patience either, although she masked it far better than Mara ever could. The old woman had also decided to stay up, but while Mara stared out the window and picked at her cuticles, Nonna was sewing. Bucky had fallen into the habit of ripping his left shirt sleeve off before going into a fight, and so Nonna took it upon herself to reattach them all with clasps. She had been sewing for hours, only stopping for sips of wine.

"The broadcast ended an hour ago," Mara muttered. Nonna hummed.

"It's a two hour drive to Haasenstadt," she mused. "They're probably maintaining radio silence to stay safe."

Just as Mara was about to respond, a thin beam of light hit her eyes cracked over the hills. The HumVee lumbered towards them, kicking up dust as it neared the mansion.

"Oeznik!" she shouted, gripping the windowsill. "They're back!"

The old butler rushed out the door, keys to the security system in hand. A minute later the massive gates blocking the road to the mansion swung open, allowing the vehicle in. Mara watched as it parked in the front loop. Zemo exited the passenger's side, cradling his arm and walking with a limp instead of his usual swagger. Sam got out of the driver's seat, super suit gone. He stumbled to the door, rubbing his face. Mara stared at the Hummer, waiting for a third door to open. It didn't.

She ran outside, meeting the two battered fighters before they could come in.

"Where is he?" Mara demanded. She appraised the two men standing before her. Sam and Zemo both looked like hell, but right now her only concern was the guilty look on Sam's face and the fact that Zemo was avoiding her glare.

"Mara-" Sam began, trying to place a hand on her shoulder. She brushed it off.

"Don't bullshit me, Sam," she ordered. Tears were starting to burn her eyes but she couldn't cry. Not yet. Not until someone told her, "where the hell is Bucky?"

"He didn't make it out," Zemo answered.

"What?" Mara gasped, taking a step back. She looked to Sam, hoping that Zemo was lying to her, but Sam didn't meet her gaze. A buzzing sound grew in her ears as she stared at them, her mind rushing through every possible explanation for why Bucky wasn't there with them. "Is he dead?" she managed to whisper. Sam shook his head.

"No. They captured him," he said in a tone that was not at all reassuring. "They knew we were coming. We were ambushed."

"No," Nonna wailed, and Mara felt the old woman gripping on her, but she could not react.

"Why didn't you help him?" Mara asked angrily. Sam winced and she knew that she should feel bad. After all, he looked like shit, and Zemo's bedraggled appearance was enough to earn a twinge of sympathy. But Bucky wasn't here, and this was triage.

"He told me to go," Sam answered, looking Mara in the eye for the first time.

"And you listened to him?" Mara demanded, a terrified laugh breaking through her chest into the cold night. "He's all but suicidal!"