The Fall - Book 1

86. Don't read into it, Réa.

⚠️ TW: mentions of medical treatment; mentions of nightmares ⚠️

DECEMBER 29, 2018 — AVENGERS COMPOUND — RÉA

I woke up five weeks ago, on November twenty fourth, two days after Thanksgiving.

I stayed in the med wing for two weeks after waking. I asked that everyone aside from Doctor Strange, Doctor Lawrence, and Bruce give me space...then surprised Bucky—and all of the others—when I invited him to stay in my room. I requested that he sit on the other side of the curtain, and he quickly agreed, saying that, if it meant he could stay with me, he'd do whatever I wanted.

In the span of those two weeks, Doctor Strange and Doctor Lawrence came by several times: conducting check-ups and making sure I began doing some physical therapy exercises to get my muscles used to movement and to regain strength. In the evenings, Bruce gave me a mild sedative to help me sleep nightmare-free; it actually worked surprisingly well.

December sixteenth—the day I returned to my suite—was rough. After a quick peek in my kitchenette to find my fridge and cabinets fully stocked, I settled in on my couch—I couldn't handle the idea of being in a bed; the one in the med wing had been bad enough to stay in—and watched TV. After about five minutes, I called Bucky; he stayed on the phone with me all day and all evening, until I fell asleep.

It was my first night without the sedative, and it seemed like the nightmare started as soon as I drifted off. I woke, screaming, to the bright lights of my living room and the sounds of the TV. I'd heard Bucky outside my door, and I'd immediately grabbed my throw blanket and moved over to it, curling up on the floor. I'd heard Bucky settle onto the floor of the corridor, and he talked to me until I managed to fall back asleep.

After that night, a routine formed: Bucky would talk to me all day, either over the phone or through the door. He'd make sure I ate; the only times I moved from my spot by the door were to go to the kitchenette or the en suite. At night, I'd settle onto the pallet I set up by the door, and Bucky would stay in the corridor, talking to me until I fell asleep. I assumed he slept there as well, because every time I'd wake, he'd be there, soothing me back to sleep.

He even stuck to the routine on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I told him repeatedly that he should go be with the team; he insisted on staying with me. He also convinced me to shower—my first since I'd left the med bay; I'd only done sponge baths up to that point. I'd been putting off showering because I wasn't ready to be completely naked...wasn't ready to see all of the scars on my body all at once; he'd said that he'd still be right by the door when I got out. What finally convinced me was when he reminded me that my bathroom had a Bluetooth speaker that connected to my phone, and that he'd stay on the phone with me the whole time if I wanted him to. I'd agreed, and had stood under the warm water, quietly crying, while he read to me, only disconnecting when I was ready to dry off.

When I'd emerged from the bathroom, I'd found a pile of wrapped packages right inside my door.

"Merry Christmas, Réa," Bucky says. "No one came into your room; Wanda did her whole magic thing and put those inside with her powers."

"But..."

"Don't. I know you're going to say that you didn't get me anything. Don't worry about that. And all of those aren't from me...some are from the others. And no, they don't want you to worry about not having anything for them. I—we—wanted to do this."

I swallow thickly, tears filling my eyes.

"Tha-thank y-you," I say.

Bucky's quiet for a minute.

"I don't hear you unwrapping anything," he says.

With the faintest hint of a smile touching my face, I sit beside the pile, setting aside all of the ones labelled 'From Bucky', planning to open those last. Once I do that, I pick out one of the remaining presents.

I wind up with two gigantic hoodies from Nat and Bruce; four oversized, long-sleeve t-shirts from Wanda and Vision; two six-packs of fuzzy socks from Clint; a book of Asgardian stories from Loki and a book on the history of Asgardian battle strategy from Thor; an almost obscenely large, fleece blanket from Scott; the complete series of The Office on DVD from Sam; a case of composition books and a set of Staedtler Triplus Fineliner pens from Steve; two certificates saying donations had been made in my name to The Headstrong Project, courtesy of both Rhodey and Happy; and a letter from Tony and Pepper saying they upgraded both the soundboard and the soundproofing in the music room.

Moving on to the gifts from Bucky, I ask if there's any specific one he wants me to open first.

"No, doll...just whichever one you want to start with."

The first package I open contains a beautiful, leatherbound journal; the second contains a floor-length, fuzzy robe with a hood; the third contains a white wolf plush.

"I'm assuming you've opened your robe, your wolf, and your journal, right?" Bucky asks.

"How did you know?"

"Because I know what the last gift is, and I have an idea how you're going to react to it...and you haven't reacted that way yet," he replies.

Intrigued, I open the last present to find a copy of Prufrock and Other Observations, and a copy of Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.

"Bucky...are...are these first editions?!"

"Yes."

"These are too much...I can't ac—"

"You can, Réa. I know they're your favourites."

"Buc—"

"Réa."

I'm speechless for several long moments.

"Thank you. Thank you," I eventually say.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Bucky pauses.

Pulling myself out of the memory, I cuddle my white wolf plush closer to my chest and place my hand against the door, in the spot I know Bucky is currently leaning against while he reads Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

"Bucky?"

He stops reading. "Yeah, doll?"

"Thank you. For everything. I know these three weeks haven't been easy and I just want to say 'thank you'."

"You don't have to thank me, Réa. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than with you."

At his reply, something warm and bright briefly flares in my chest before disappearing.

'He's just being nice...friendly. Don't read into it, Réa,' I tell myself. 'He couldn't possibly want you like that anymore.'

'But what if he does?' a small voice inside me asks.

'He doesn't.'

'Oh great...and now I'm arguing with myself,' I think.

Willing my brain to just be quiet, I lie on my pallet and focus on Bucky's voice; eventually, I fall into a dreamless sleep.