Death Where is Your Sting? - B. Barnes

Chapter 33

Ray was bored. There was nothing for her to do. She laid on the couch, feet draped over the back, head hanging toward the floor as the blood pooled in her skull. After Torres brought back breakfast and they ate, the boys had all headed upstairs to Sam's room for a "team meeting". Ray had asked to be on the team, to help with whatever they were doing, but Bucky had made it clear she was not to be included. She'd huffed at him, accused him of hiding something, but Sam assured her it was nothing exciting, just loads of boring research and reading for a project they'd been working on for a while. Bucky had refused to meet her gaze as they retreated upstairs. Torres had given her an iPod - one she recognized - for entertainment, but that had been three hours ago, and while it had felt good to move, to dance, for a time, she'd long tired of the music. She'd tried watching TV - Sam had showed her how to work the remote - but nothing held her interest. And now she was bored. So. Very. Bored.

She shifted on the couch, laying flat for a minute while she decided what to do. Her stomach rumbled. Maybe she could try her hand at cooking something, perhaps it could even help jog her memory. Ray rose from the couch, flipping some music on again, and headed toward the kitchen. As she rounded the counter, her vision blurred and the room spun. She gripped the kitchen counter. Probably just dizzy from lying upside down. Give it a second. She shook her head, blinked a few times, and it seemed to clear. She continued over to the fridge, grabbing the door handle, noting how her fingers twitched and promptly disregarding it. She found some chicken and pasta sauce. Chicken parmesan, that should be easy.

Ray rummaged through the cabinets, looking for pans, pasta, breadcrumbs. As she bent to get a pot for the pasta, pain shot up her leg and her knee gave out beneath her. She hissed at the sudden pain, grabbing the pot before standing again, only to discover her leg wouldn't support her. She almost fell, dropping the metal pot as she grasped at the counter to avoid faceplanting to the floor. "Shit." She had a feeling the clang of the pot as it hit the floor would have one of the guys coming to find her. She'd wanted lunch to be a surprise. When she didn't hear footsteps and no one called down to her, she let out a sigh of relief, finally got her feet solidly underneath her.

Still unable to locate any breadcrumbs or seasonings, she groaned in defeat at the need to trudge upstairs and ask Sam for help. Ray headed for the stairs, limping slightly, and the room tipped, those black spots returning to the edge of her vision.

Spinning room.
Her hands grasping the counter.
Sam's back, knife in hand.
"Gonna grab a sweater."
"You cold?"

Ray shook her head. Memories...This has happened before. Her head was pounding. She continued on toward the stairs, black spots further invading her vision, hands spread before her in an effort to balance and in case she fell. She made it to the stairs, blinking rapidly to try to clear her vision.

Stairs.
Everything spinning.
Crash.
"You had a seizure."

"Shit!" Ray pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, desperately trying to rub away the pain, the blackness, the dizziness. "Just get upstairs. You can lie down. It'll pass..." I hope.

She made it up three steps, gripping the railing with both hands for dear life, before her leg gave out again. She collapsed to the steps, fingers slipping from the railing, heart racing, panic building. "What the hell is happening to me?" she muttered to herself. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't move. She reached up for the railing, intending to pull herself the rest of the way up the stairs if she had to, but through the blackness invading her vision, she caught sight of her fingers, twitching - again. Suddenly, she couldn't catch her breath, her chest felt tight, anxiety peaking. "Bucky..." She tried to call for him, but her throat was choked with fear. She squeezed her eyes shut as her hearing faded, replaced by an overwhelming buzz, hoping if she closed her eyes, she'd find this was all a terrible dream when she opened them again.