In Your Eyes // Steve Rogers

47

Two blocks from the facility was as far as I could sprint before black dots clouded my vision entirely. I tripped, bashed my head against a streetlight pole, and I was out.

Still in the chaos of people dashing away, Sam discovered me. We weren't seen as he brought us to the rendezvous point.

I awoke curled up on the grimy floor. I did my best to slowly change my position, avoiding a trigger of headaches. Dizziness kept me from standing. A minor headache continued to shake my brain at the slightest bit of movement. I preferred it to what it was before.

"Feeling any better?" asked Steve cautiously.

"Kinda," I admitted, rubbing my forehead.

He passed a bottle of water into my view. My hands were able to reach for it without trembling. I had trouble opening the cap at first. He offered out his hands. With time, I did it by myself. I took a sip.

"It's important to stay hydrated while you're like this, okay? If you need anything else, I'm here, Clara," mumbled Steve.

His strange behavior traced to the knowledge that I was able to think again. I no longer required him for comfort from the device. I required answers from him. Steve feared the reaction.

I shakily inhaled. "Do I even want to ask where my dog is?"

Steve's face hardened. "I... Believe me, I tried to save him, I--"

"God, Steve, I told you...!" I whimpered. At the crack in my voice, his hands reached for me once more. I smacked them away. "Don't. Do not touch me right now."

"I'm so sorry."

Through my tears, I choked out, "Where do you think this is supposed to go? We're on the run. We're harboring a brainwashed assassin. What do you think is going to happen in the best case scenario?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "But I do know this is better than leaving him in government hands."

I shook my head. I sat there, quietly sobbing, for more than a few minutes. Disappointment was a feeling I never thought I'd feel from Steve. Being subjected to it, the grief, and the pure frustration of our troublesome situation brought me to tears.

Steve averted his eyes. I asked him not to touch me, he wasn't going to disobey my request, not even with me bawling my eyes out. He wasn't unaffected, as I thought he would come off. The slouch in his shoulders, the scrunch between his brows, shoving hands in his pockets, he was itching to help. He watched me suffer through Tony's power blocking device; a situation where his aid wasn't available. Having to watch me cry, knowing fully he could help, but I didn't want him to, shattered his heart.

I wondered how many times our hearts could break before they gave in and shattered.

As much as I wanted to sit in the warehouse for the rest of my days and cry, I wasn't able to. I escaped custody for a reason bigger than myself. A pledge I made to a man in need of my help still remained. For the lost Bucky Barnes, for the man Steve once was, I needed to continue.

I rubbed my sore eyes. Sniffling profoundly, I uttered, "In my research, I found this duo. Hell's Kitchen. I think, if we got Barnes to a trial, they could--"

"He'd lose, based on what he just did alone," said Steve.

"It's not as if it was by his choice."

"Who else knows that besides us, Clara?" asked Steve. His tone was as irritated as I appeared. "Who else would believe that, besides us?"

"I'm just trying to help him," I muttered.