Death Where is Your Sting? - B. Barnes

Chapter 22

Ray didn't go down for dinner. She locked the bedroom door after Bucky left and didn't open it again. Not when Sam tried to bring her dinner. Not when Bucky tried to apologize for losing his temper. Not even when they sent Torres to try to smooth things over. Ray was having none of it. If Bucky didn't want her involved, she'd get the hell out of his way.

It was long after dark and the house was silent as Torres sat on the couch, rubbing his eyes, tired from staring at the computer screen, trying to narrow down the location of the Power Broker. After Ray's seizure, they'd all agreed that time was of the essence. She was getting worse, and they had to find a solution. Of the three, Torres was the best on tech, and he wasn't going to waste a minute that he could be searching for answers. Partly because he was afraid of what Sergeant Barnes would do to him if they couldn't find the answer. But mostly it was because he cared. Ray had wormed her way into all of their hearts quicker than any of them had expected.

A creeping shadow crossed his peripheral vision, and he looked up in time to see the porch door click shut. He snuck toward the door, pushing it open slowly and wincing when the hinge squeaked loudly. He found Ray leaning against the railing, halfway down the steps - wearing his hat. "Ray?"

She didn't turn to face him. "Go back to bed, Torres."

"Can't. I wasn't in bed. I was on the couch so..."

"Whatever. Just...go back inside. Please."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not..." Can't get anywhere if you can't move. She sighed, and dropped her head. "Nowhere."

Joaquin stepped toward her, noticing her shivering. He grabbed the blanket hanging on the porch swing, draping it over her shoulders as he reached her. She flinched at the contact and let out a shaky breath. "Here, let me help you -"

"I'm not going back inside."

Torres shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, joining her on the step where she stood. "Yeah. It's nicer out here. The stars are brighter than in DC." He descended to the step below her, turning to face her. Her cheeks were flush, she was breathing heavy, her eyes pinched shut, brow furrowed in pain. "That porch swing is pretty comfortable. Why don't we sit, enjoy the stars for a bit?"

Her right arm jerked suddenly and she huffed in frustration, her eyes still closed. "I - I can't..." She shook her head as tears threatened to spill over. He could hear the emotion building in her voice - sadness and frustration.

"Okay. It's okay," he soothed. He stepped closer, hovering his hand below her elbow. "Can I...Is it okay if I help?" Bucky had told him about her aversion to touch a while back, and he'd seen first hand her fear of burdening them, of worrying them...of appearing weak. He wasn't about to force the issue.

Her eyes slowly opened, meeting his gaze. People didn't usually ask for permission before they touched her. She studied his face - warm, caring, an almost imperceptible pinch in his brow in concern for her. His eyes darted toward her elbow, where his hand was hovering, seeking permission to help. She moved her arm, fingers twitching, to rest on his, grasping the inside of his elbow.

At the contact, Joaquin closed his hand around her elbow and lifted her other arm over his shoulder to support her. Ray limped a bit, and she hissed in discomfort as he moved her toward the swing. He whispered an apology, lowering them to the seat and removing her arm from around his neck.

"Thanks, my legs were getting tired from standing."

Ray huffed at his comment. "Liar."

He chuckled. "Alright, you got me. I'm actually too tired to stand."