In Which There Seems To Be A Tragedy
"Don't . . . ." She managed to stutter out. "Don't what?" Bucky hurriedly questioned while holding her small, bleeding frame in his arms. "Don't hate yourself. Don't hate yourself." The second time that she said it, it sounded more like an order compared to the first time, a mere statement.
He looked at her almost quizzically, with sad eyes and furrowed brows. How could she be worried about him when she was dying?
"You're not a monster. You're not evil." His lips were almost in a grimace now, and he looked even sadder. "[. . .]And neither is your arm." His jaw clenched, his brows furrowed, and his heart wrenched. She was spending her last moments trying to get him to love and forgive himself ... as she usually always did. She was just selfless like that, he thought. Typical [MC].
"It's a part of you. It helps you. Yes, it was there when you did bad things ... when you were forced to do bad things, but it was forced, just like you were forced. And I love you, so I love your metal arm, too. Because it's a part of you, and sometimes that's how I know that it's you. It's one of the things that lets me know that it's you. Like when you walk up behind me and slip your metal arm around my waist, and then I know that it's you, or when I feel your cold touch, the cold touch of your metal arm, and I know that it's you, or the many other things that you do . . . ." She said a little bit suggestively. (Get your minds out of the gutters, you sinners. Hehehe.)
She laughed a little bit and immediately coughed up a little bit of blood. She covered her mouth as she sputtered. His brows furrowed even further, and he cradled her face.
"[. . .]Or when you cradle my face like that, and, like I said before, I feel your cold touch; it's you, Bucky. I love you, Bucky." She whispered the last part about it being him and loving him. "I love you, too. Forever!" "Forever!"
[To be continued.]