Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 73 - Chances Lost

*Whirr* *Grind*

You open your eyes and lift your head only far enough to spot another nameless, faceless Spectre step inside your cell. It doesn't even bother looking at you as it crosses your cell to leave a single bottle of water on the table before leaving. 

*Slam*

You lay your head back down with a quiet, tired sigh. 

You need to go get that water. 

Yet rising from your cot gets harder each time as your legs grow weaker, and the pain in your back grows sharper every time you try to walk. You wonder how many more times you'll manage to make it to the table and back before your legs give out completely.

Stop. It doesn't matter. 

You push away the doubt and the frustration. Ultimately the "what-ifs" don't matter. You must keep drinking. If you don't, you'll break. And you can't break before Vex comes to you. 

Because she will come to you. 

She needs you. 

She needs you to break James. Because alone she can't. He's too strong. And when she comes it will be your last and only chance to save him.

But you won't get that chance if you break.

And without food, without water, you will. You'll break. And Vex is counting on it. In fact, she's running the very same play you would likely choose yourself. You've used it before. In fact, you used it on James back at the Hold. Starve the asset, make them compliant. Make them hungry enough, and they'll do anything you want. 

But it's a delicate balance. 

Make them too hungry, or too thirsty, and they'll snap. They'll go so insane they're no longer of use. Or they'll simply die. Whither away. 

But you've mastered this play. You know what you need to do to stay whole.

So with a groan of effort you sit up and push yourself toward the table. Your weak and shaky legs bring back memories of damp caverns and empty tunnels. But this time Steve isn't here. You wish he was. You'd give anything for one of his sunbutter sandwiches. And a warm hand to hold. A whisper that everything is going to be okay.

You choke back the tears and uncap the bottle, drinking every last drop as quickly as you can before rising once more and returning to your cot. Panting with effort, brow slick with sweat, you let your eyes fall back on that tiny little moss patch as you lay back down.

And you wait. 

And wait. 

And wait.

Minute after minute. Hour after hour. Day after day. The routine is the same. It never changes.

Another Spectre. Another water. Another trek to the table.

And as each day passes your body weakens. The few steps it takes to get to the table in the middle of your cell leave you winded - struggling to catch your breath. Your head pounds with fatigue and your mouth tastes of nothing but bile and dirt. 

But you keep getting up. Every day another Spectre. Another water. Another trek to the table. Until one day there's hesitation at the door. Another Spectre, no doubt. Yet this one hesitates before walking through the threshold. 

This is a change in the routine. 

You squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, listening.

Waiting.

"Get up."

Your tired eyes fly open in surprise at the wet, rasping voice that speaks. You did not expect to ever hear this voice again. Yet here it is, once more in your ear.