Broken

Chapter Twelve

"How's he doing?" Sam asked, coming to stand by Steve in the doorway.

He sighed, "He hasn't slept. He doesn't eat and as far as I know he has not left her side in the three days since he got here."

They looked into the room at Bucky, who sat close to the side of Alex's hospital. "And how's she?"

Steve shrugged, turning to look at Sam. "I don't know. The doctors haven't told us much."

"That doesn't sound promising."

Bucky could hear them talking in the hallway, but he didn't want to listen to whatever they were saying. He kept his attention firmly on Alex, desperately hoping for any sign that she was going to okay, some kind of movement, a small twitch - anything. Both of his hands were closed around her small one, the warmth coming from her skin was promising and Bucky just hoped that she'd be comforted by the contact.

She seemed so fragile, lying there on the bed, still. Bucky's eyes flicked from the steady rise and fall of Alex's chest, up to the machine that monitored her heart rate, the occasional beep of which served to calm him no end. But finally he brought his eyes back up to her face, long dark eyelashes fanned out against her pale skin, pink lips parted by the tube which allowed her to breathe. Bucky longed for her to wake up.

It made his heart break, sitting here day after day whilst the idea of a life with Alex seemed to slip further away. But more than anything he was angry; at himself, at whoever agreed for her to go, at Strucker and even at Alex herself. Bucky knew it wasn't her fault she was shot, but if she'd just listened to him instead of being so set on going - no, he couldn't be angry with her, not seeing her like this.

The truth was Bucky hadn't ever lost anyone. Yeah, he went to war and men died, but never any of the people close to him.

He was the one they lost.

And because of that he wasn't around when his parents died, his friends, anyone he knew - he'd come to realise that they were gone, along with the world he knew and of course it was a massive loss and the sudden realisation had caused him to feel despondent about this new life - but he'd never been there like he was now, with someone he loved's life hanging in the balance. But he couldn't think like that. Alex was going to wake up, she was going to live.

No one would tell him the full extent of what the bullet had done, but whatever it was had done some damage. When they arrived at the hospital, she'd been rushed into surgery and they told him that he'd have to wait in the hall. It was an image that Bucky would never forget; Alex lying still on that gurney, her blood soaking through her shirt as they attached an oxygen mask to her mouth, rushing her through the theater doors - knowing there was nothing he could do. No way he could help her now - only waiting. And the one doctor that would tell them anything only said that they had hope that Alex would pull through.

Hope. It was all any of them could do.

Bucky heard someone move across the room and sit down next to him. "Buck?" It was Steve. "Can I get you anything?"

"No." He replied quickly, keeping his focus firmly on Alex.

But Steve was worried about his friend, "Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"I want her to wake up!" It came out harsher than he intended it to. He turned to face Steve, "Sorry."

"It's okay, you're worried about Alex, I can understand that." Steve lowered his eyes. "If I knew that this would've happened when I said yes to her going then--"

"It was you?" Bucky looked at him with hard eyes, his voice dangerously low. "You said she could come?!"

"Yeah, because I know what it's like to be told by people you can't fight."