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Bob didn't mean to leave his door open. He thought he'd closed it when he slunk back to his room, but sometimes it didn't catch if he didn't close it a certain way. He'd meant to say something about it to someone, but it felt like such a petty thing to complain about in the scheme of things. After all, he had a nice, warm place to sleep, plenty of food, and people who at least pretended to tolerate him. It was more than he'd ever had. So what did it matter if the door stuck?
He didn't even notice it was open. There was light; he knew that much. But his eyes had unfocused, and it could have come from anywhere - his laptop that was propped half-open where he'd forgotten about it on the floor, a part in his blackout curtains that shielded his room from the blinding lights of New York City, or maybe he'd just left the light on in his bathroom. It was no matter. He had curled himself up in his comforter and let the darkness inside of him take root. He was too tired to fight it.
Sometimes he wondered if Bob wasn't a real person.
He'd always considered himself Bob. Not Robert or Robby. Not Rob or Bobby. Bob. B O B. And the highs and lows were a part of Bob, one that he tried desperately to dull or smother or erase.
The person who came out the other side? The one who came down after being hypomanic, the one who had to apologize and clean up the mess? That was Bob.
The one who surfaced after weeks of depression dragging him down, the one who had to force himself to eat and shower and change his clothes? That was Bob.
But on days like this, he wondered that maybe he was the Void all along.
Maybe the thing he feared all along was the secret truth he'd also been avoiding. That Bob was just the Clark Kent to the Void's Kal-El - a mask worn to hide the true identity lurking underneath. A facade of humanity developed to set the others around him at ease. The cover he wore to seem like a regular, functioning human instead of what he really was - deeply and profoundly broken.
After all, the Void was there. It was always there, tucked away beneath Bob's skin. His proverbial Superman suit that came out in times of danger. He just didn't always get the option of ducking into a phone booth to change into his real skin. Sometimes, it just peeked through anyway.
It hadn't even been a bad day, not in the traditional sense. Sure, he'd burnt his toast in the morning and singed his finger pulling it out of the toaster. It didn't even really hurt. Just a temporary sting. Then the burn disappeared as if it was never there to begin with. Walker'd laughed at his misfortune, but there was no real malice behind it. Bob knew that.
On the surface, Bob brushed it off, flipping Walker off and stealing a piece of his bacon. But he felt the slight in his chest, like there was a knife whittling away a piece of him, leaving nothing behind but a little chunk of emptiness.
Bucky had been trying to get him to train for weeks. He reasoned that everyone on the team should be able to defend themselves in any situation. That went double for Bob, who didn't want to use his powers for fear of triggering his mania or, worse, his other side. So better to learn some basic combat skills rather than risk triggering something potentially world-threatening, right?
That was much easier said than done, especially when everyone on the team save for Yelena had super powers. And she was literally a brainwashed child assassin, so it wasn't exactly even odds. So, by the time Yelena had pinned him for the final time, the frustration in his chest had grown so steadily that Bob was almost shaking with sheer rage. Yelena didn't seem to notice. She gave him a pat on the back - a literal pat on the back like he was some kid who'd struck out in Little League instead of a grown ass man who was capable of sucking up millions if not billions of people into his own fucking pocket dimension of interconnected shame rooms. Then she told him he'd do better next time. Bob was so livid, so viscerally furious that he couldn't even fake a pleasantry, just storming out of the gym, acting like he didn't see the concerned looks his teammates shot each other.
After he cooled down, Bob spent most of the rest of the day in a daze. He'd picked up his newest book, an old, classic satire about military incompetence but, hours later, realized he'd started reading an entirely different book about a writer in a town plagued by vampires instead. Didn't even notice his bookmark wasn't in it. Just opened to a page and started reading. If you could even really call it that. Bob could barely recall anything he'd read. It was like the words floated out of his mind as soon as they entered, leaving only the vaguest recollections behind.
It was Thursday, which meant New Avengers movie night, but he'd forgotten. All the days of the week seemed to blur into each other anymore, if they'd ever particularly stood out to him at all. It took Yelena calling his phone three times before Bob even heard it ring. She'd been nearly about to barge into his room to check on him when he answered. He muttered something about losing track of time while reading, but, judging by the looks everyone gave him when he trudged out into the main living room, no one really bought that explanation.
The team had apparently squabbled about what movie to watch. At least Bob assumed so, judging by the only somewhat playful snipes Alexei and Walker kept shooting at each other. He didn't really pay much attention anyway. It was all noise and lights and movement to him. Just as long as he stared at the screen, no one would know he couldn't even begin to start concentrating on it.
When Ava leaned over and asked him if he was liking the movie, he just nodded and gave a noncommittal 'mmm' sound. It seemed to pacify her well enough, even if he didn't face her when he answered. She probably just thought he was absorbed in the action (drama? comedy?). Bob didn't see the look of concern Ava shot Bucky or notice how the older man watched him more than the actual movie. And he definitely didn't notice when Bucky left the room. Or when he came back. But Bob did notice what - or rather who - Bucky came back with.
Bucky'd brought Alpine to the Watchtower a few months ago. Bob was excited at first. He'd never really been around a lot of cats, but it was hard to not admire them. They were beautiful creatures - all sleek fur, big eyes, and graceful limbs. They could be serious or silly, temperamental or sweet, smart or dumb as a bag of rocks, but they were above all other things - mischievous, a trait Bob greatly admired in others. And Alpine was no exception.
In her first week, she'd broken a record number of things in the Tower, more than Alexei's carelessness or Bob's clumsiness had in all the previous months combined. Glasses were shattered, teammates were tripped, and all hair ties were missing, even the ones Yelena had hidden in a zipped closed backpack. Alpine calmed down after that, slowly finding her groove in this tower full of superheroes, soldiers, and assassins.
Bob had wanted to pet her right away, but Bucky advised against it. She was finicky, he'd said. She'd come to you when she wanted to. It's how Bucky had come to have her in the first place. He'd tried to get her inside at his old apartment in Brooklyn, but she resisted (or outsmarted) all his attempts, leaving nothing but tufts of fur and a lot of scratch marks in her wake. But one day, Alpine simply followed him inside. She'd just decided it was the right time and slipped past him when he opened his door, a flash of white the only thing that alerted Bucky to her presence.
And she did acclimate. Besides Bucky, Yelena was her favorite. The cat would slip into Yelena's quarters to stalk her guinea pig, Robert Jr. Unfortunately for Alpine, try as she might, she just couldn't scare little Rob into running from her. Unlike his namesake, Robert Jr. didn't give one solitary fuck. He was the most relaxed animal Bob had ever met. Either he was a genius who realized that he was safe with Yelena, or he was a complete moron with no survival instincts whatsoever. Bob secretly thought it was the latter. After all, he had to have something in common with his namesake. (Bob told that to Yelena once. She didn't think it was funny. Stared him down with her patented 'disappointed little sister' glare until Bob muttered an apology.) So when Alpine realized there was no chase to be had, she made due with following Yelena around everywhere, like a pale, fuzzy shadow. It made sense. All animals seemed to like Yelena.
It wasn't too much of a surprise when Bob saw Alpine sitting in Ava's lap. Ava was very cat-like herself: stealthy, mercurial in nature, sharp as a knife and twice as deadly. However, it was a surprise just how loudly Alpine purred. For such a quiet, (mostly) polite cat, Alpine's purr was closer to a lawnmower motor than the delicate meows she gave Bucky whenever it was feeding time. Alpine always seemed to find Ava on the days Bob would see her with bruises under her eyes, walking like she was trying her best not to limp - the heavy pain days. He'd read somewhere that cats purring helped with pain and wondered if it was true. Regardless, Ava seemed happy for the quiet company.
Alpine seemed almost amused by Alexei. Despite how bombastic and relentlessly loud he was, she never flinched from him. Maybe it had something to do with the sheer volume of toys and treats he got her. If Alpine came running by at top speed, Alexei was almost always right behind her holding some new, catnip-filled toy.
Walker had taken a while for Alpine to warm up to. The first time he tried to pet her, she hissed at him. Bucky tried to bite back his smile, secretly proud of his girl's judgment, but Bob had noticed it. Walker had grumbled that he was a dog person anyway and usually avoided crossing paths with the cat. Try as he might to seem unaffected, Bob noticed all the times he let Alpine smell his hand to see if maybe this time she'd let him pet her. He also noticed the table scraps he snuck to her, ignoring Bucky's command that Al wasn't allowed to have any human food. Eventually, his hard work and diligence paid dividends. Bob had caught them in the living room, snoozing on the recliner together. John would be dad snoring, having fallen asleep during the halftime of some game, and Alpine would be napping on his chest, occasionally giving him a little swat with her delicate pink-toed paw if his snoring got too grating.
But try as he might, Alpine just couldn't stand Bob. He did everything that he thought might work. He gave her space, and she gladly took it. But the second he'd let her smell his hand, she'd hiss at him. Bob stayed out in public areas, reading quietly, hoping she'd jump up in his lap or maybe even next to him, but it seemed like she purposefully avoided those spaces when he was there. He bought her cat toys and treats, but even her favorite catnip-infused stuffed mouse and her beloved Churu couldn't get her to come anywhere near him. And sleeping in the living room was impossible. Bob had no idea how John did it so regularly. Must have been a dad thing.
He tried his best to push down the hurt. But every time those canny blue eyes flickered past him like he wasn't even worth a sniff, it was hard not to take it personally. And, with the day he'd had, the last thing he needed was to be rejected by a dumb cat.
Bob didn't feel the couch shift when Bucky sat down next to him, but it was impossible to ignore the lump of white fur that was suddenly in his lap. On instinct, he froze, watching.
Alpine seemed to be frozen as well. Everything had changed quickly for her in the last few minutes. She'd been taking a nap on her cat tower, then she was scooped into Bucky's arms and brought out into what was currently the loudest (and most occupied) room in the entire Watchtower. And, just as unceremoniously as she had been picked up, Bucky had dropped her into a lap. But not just any lap.
Bob saw it when Alpine realized where she was. Or rather, who he was. Her eyes narrowed, pupils constricting to tight little slits. Those fuzzy ears rotated back on her head, flattening slightly as she flicked her tail irritably. Bob didn't dare try to touch her. Even he could read that body language.
And, just as soon as she was on his lap, she was gone, jumping down and walking away with her tail high in the air, looking every bit like the affronted princess she was. The only thing Bob was left with was a small scratch on his thigh from her sharp back claws and an ever-growing emptiness in his chest that he'd been fighting back all day.
Bucky apologized profusely, trying to explain, but Bob waved him off. He didn't remember his words exactly, but he could imagine what he'd said. It was okay. It was a nice gesture. Cats are finicky. Maybe next time.
He surely made some excuse to leave. He must have. He didn't know what words, if any, he spoke, but Bob could remember the rumble of using his voice, the dryness of his lips as air breezed past them, and the way his mouth made that weird, uncomfortable clicking sound like his saliva was too sticky and was catching on his tongue and against his teeth. Maybe they called out after him. Maybe they just watched him leave, the room painfully and suddenly quiet. Or maybe they didn't notice at all. Bob didn't know, and he couldn't find it in him to care. He just felt…nothing.
Bob didn't mean to leave his door open. He really didn't. He always closed rooms when he entered them, had ever since he could remember. Closed doors were essential. They meant silence, solitude, safety. But closed doors also meant darkness.
He'd always tried his best to mitigate it. Turning on all the lamps in the attic of his childhood home and open all the blinds. Turning on the hallway light when he'd crash on someone's couch to sleep off a bender. Turning on all the lights on in his room in the Watchtower or at least turn on his bedside lamp. But today? Darkness had already taken root.
As he curled up under his comforter, he felt its tendrils spreading like an infectious disease through his bloodstream. His body was so interminably heavy. His limbs felt weighed down, like someone had tied weights to them that Bob drug behind him with each step. Even his arms felt leaden, not even swinging at his side as he walked, just hanging limply. The thoughts in his brain were a swirl of everything and nothing, becoming a kind of weak, static noise at the back of his mind. Idly, the thought that his fingertips looked darker than normal flickered through his mind, but it left as soon as it appeared, leaving the comforting oblivion of nothingness behind.
Bob knew it was depression. He wasn't stupid. He'd always known that's what it was, even when he didn't have a word to put to it.
There were a lot more better days than there used to be. After tons of hard work, Bob had so much than he ever did before - a therapist who actually listened, medication to help regulate his mood swings, a stable home where he felt safe, and a strange little team that he was starting to feel like were actually his friends.
But it didn't go away. The simple truth of the matter was what he'd secretly known all along - he was unfixable. Even before the serum, Bob Reynolds was damned. He was always a freak. A mistake. A toxic mishmash of polluted genetics soured by a lifetime of shit that happened to him and because of him. There was no pill that would stop it. No breathing techniques that would control his spiraling mind. No inner work strong enough to erase all the trauma that had been imprinted on his soul against his will. Bob could mitigate all he wanted, turn on all the lights, close all the doors to keep out the pain, but the depression would come. Those closed doors couldn't shut out the one person Bob most wished to escape from - himself.
It didn't always manifest like it did in the middle of Manhattan that day when the team came together for the first time. To stop you, his mind whispered, and he couldn't deny it. They'd walked into the shadows of his mind once, but that was enough. There might be no escaping the Void, but Bob would be damned if he let his friends experience that hell ever again.
The team didn't know. They weren't idiots, though. They knew he was going through a depressive episode, but Bob had made damn sure that none of them saw him like this. He ignored the way his phone buzzed with calls and texts. He ignored the knocks on the door and invitations to join them. He even ignored the sound of hushed, concerned voices, no doubt talking about him. He didn't do anything so much as cracking open a window or snagging the trays of food they left outside his door lest anyone see how his body painted the room black with living shadow. It was hard enough just keeping the inky tendrils of the Void from creeping under the doorframe.
Occasionally he'd get the energy to send someone a text, just to let them know he was all right and he'd reach out when he felt up for company. When the shadows retreated from his body, he'd let them in. They always made it their mission to make sure he was stable. It was most likely out of obligation or fear, but Bob appreciated it anyway. He'd burdened them enough with the ticking time bomb that was his powers.
Maybe it was selfish to not tell them he wasn't as in control as he put on, but Bob cherished his time in the Watchtower. Despite the wildly fluctuating, scary ass powers, it was the most stable Bob had been since he was a little kid. Maybe even more stable than then.
He should be preparing them for when he stopped being able to control the Void, to keep it locked behind a closed door. But he reasoned what were they going to do? Yelena had said it herself - all they did was punch, kick, and shoot guns. It wasn't that they weren't strong as hell; the Thunderbolts absolutely were. They were superheroes even though the most power they had was some knock off super soldier serum and one glitchy ghost. What could they do against the darkness inside of him, the one that absorbed all the light around it, like pulsing, coiling Vantablack?
It may not be a permanent solution, but at least in his room, the Void was contained.
Bob didn't see the way the lights waned and flickered in the hallway. Didn't see the grey looks on his teammates' faces after he slunk out of a room thinking no one noticed the way his smiles didn't meet his eyes. Didn't see the pain in his friends' faces when they'd find yet another uneaten meal left at Bob's door - Yelena's hastily wiped away tears, John's uselessly clenched fists, Ava's hanged head, Alexei's drawn face, or the way Bucky stared at his door for minutes on end as if willing Bob to show some sign of life.
No, he kept the door closed, thinking that was enough. That he was protecting them from it.
But the Void couldn't be so easily contained. It curled around the Thunderbolts when everything was quiet, the same as it did for Bob. It always did, and it probably always would.
But it was easier with him around. Who else would watch shitty reality TV shows with Yelena, mocking all the horrible contestants with her? Who else would laugh at Walker's horrible dad jokes? Who else would sit with Ava on bad pain days and quietly talk to distract her? Who else would listen to Alexei's stories about his glory days in Mother Russia? And who else looked at Bucky like he was just another person, like he had zero expectations for the super soldier outside of how Bucky treated him?
But there was one resident of the Watchtower who was completely unaffected by the shadows that draped over everyone else. She saw the crack in the door and took it for the invitation it unwittingly was. Just a nudge, and she slipped through. Her fur gleamed brighter in the darkness, like the light had finally found a foothold in her coat and shone all the more radiantly for it.
Little paws padded their way through the room. Tendrils hovered near her as if yearning to touch but afraid, as if the light she brought was too much even for its inky blackness to siphon away. Her stride was easy but determined, like she had a plan and no shadow monster could stop her.
In one dainty bound, she hopped up on the bed, making her way to the gloomy lump at the center. She didn't stop, didn't even hesitate. She climbed atop the pile of shadows, did one circle to mark her spot, then sat down. As she closed those crystalline blue eyes, Alpine the cat began to purr.
His mind was too full to hear her, ears ringing with the kinds of audio crackles and whines that come when you've heard no sound for too long, like phantom tinnitus. But he could feel the way the little weight on his chest rumbled. It made a sound like a little motor humming, the noise penetrating deep into his bones. It didn't make the static go away, but slowly, little by little, it was shaping it. Like the static was tuning into the frequency of the rumble, the sounds becoming progressively less discordant. It didn't make the hurt go away. It didn't make his thoughts clear up. It didn't make him feel less sad. But it did make the room feel a little brighter.
With each breath, Bob found himself sinking in deeper and deeper into his pillows, his eyes growing heavier and heavier with each susurration. It wasn't a leaden feeling like the Void, a hollow tiredness that radiated through his body. It was the kind of tired that came from a long day full of wrought emotions. The kind of day there's nothing to do but sleep it away and hope that the morning treats you better.
"Alpine?" Bob murmured deeper and slower than he normally would. It was his voice but wrong, twisted. Like there was a dissonant, almost metallic buzzing that rose, matching the static in his mind when he spoke. Somehow, she purred even louder.
He reached up, his hand brushing a soft warmth on his chest. Even with his eyes mostly closed, he could see her. The light from the hallway lit on her fur, and it seemed to him almost as if she glowed like a beacon. Alpine nuzzled against his hand impatiently, and who was he to deny her chin scritchies?
Her purr vibrated through his skin now, echoing down his arm, into his bones, and straight through his body. This must be what it felt like for Ava. It didn't make the pain go away, but she made it easier to bear. Just knowing he was a warm bed for one cat. Just knowing he was chosen at last, that he was worthy.
As he drifted off, Bob felt his lips twitch in the close approximation of a smile. Maybe she didn't hate him after all.
Bucky managed to catch Yelena before she stormed down the hallway. He put both arms across the entrance, barring her way.
Yelena was less than amused.
"Bucky, this isn't the time to play games. I need to check on Bob," she said curtly, pushing on Bucky's flesh arm.
He didn't budge.
"It's okay. He's asleep."
That wasn't exactly the answer Yelena was expecting.
"Did you…check on him?" Yelena asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
When Bob got depressed, they each had their roles. All the team members pitched in to make sure Bob got his needs met even when he was unable to meet them himself. It didn't matter that he couldn't make it downstairs to the kitchen for food. They brought it to him. If he needed company, one of the team would be there for him. If he needed to leave the Watchtower and get some sunshine or go on a midnight walk, there was always someone ready and willing to go with.
But at the end of the day, it was Yelena who was in charge of the serious stuff. She was the closest to him and the one who understood him the best. It only made sense. She'd have hard talks with him, listen to every single one of his irrational spirals and heartbreaking confessions. She'd ramble about anything and everything if he needed to hear someone's voice instead of his own inside his head. And she was the one who'd stay with him when he couldn't sleep alone. For Bucky to be the one to look in on him…well, that wasn't exactly normal.
Bucky shrugged. His face was just as infuriatingly unreadable as it always was. The former Winter Soldier had a poker face that would put most spies to shame.
"Did he…?" Yelena's voice trailed off, glancing down the hallway at his door. She didn't see any telltale shadows at the foot of his door, but that didn't mean anything. Despite Bob's claim that he couldn't control the…Other Guy, he was damned good at keeping his Void form under wraps.
Of course she knew. They all knew. Even if they hadn't checked in on Bob - using picks to unlock and re-lock his door, Ava partially phasing through while invisible to look - it was hard to disguise the feeling of the Void. It was like a cold chill down your back, a storm cloud at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow in the corner of your eye. Walker had joked that it was like the Tower was possessed, but no one, including himself, laughed. They'd agreed long ago that, as long as Bob had it handled, that they wouldn't say anything. They let Bob have his "secret."
Bucky gave a terse nod, and Yelena closed her eyes. She took in a deep, calming breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth slowly before opening them again.
"But you said he's asleep," Yelena insisted. "He doesn't really…sleep while he's the Void. He just kind of…lays there. It's different. He only sleeps when the Void is gone." It seemed like a form of dissociation more than anything. Bob's breathing never evened out the way it did when he was actually asleep. Yelena's theory is that he was actively in the Void itself, probably back in that horrible attic, tinkering with random gadgets and playing with the Rubik's Cube he could never seem to solve. She tried once to break him out of it, to go into the Void and find him. But, instead of sucking her in and turning her body to shadow, the black, writhing tentacles repelled her, physically pushing her away. The Void only wanted Bob.
"He is asleep," Bucky said with the kind of firmness that meant he was sure of it.
Before Yelena's own thoughts could spiral, Bucky interrupted them. He placed a hand on hers. She hadn't realized she'd started picking at her sleeve until she stopped, a nervous tic she had accidentally gleaned from Bob.
"Alpine is with him." He said it like that was an explanation, like that meant anything to Yelena other than the fleeting thought of how strange that was since Alpine couldn't seem to stand Bob.
"I'd hoped when I brought her to the Tower that she'd help." Bucky's words were quiet, like he wasn't used to revealing what he was thinking. Which he wasn't, unless it was to guide or criticize. The only person Bucky ever seemed to open up to was Bob, something Yelena hadn't thought was that odd until just now.
"She's…special," Bucky said simply. "She's brought me a lot of comfort. And from what I've seen, she's done the same for everyone else."
Now that Yelena thought about it, Alpine did seem to always show up when she was really needed. When Alexei got lonely and she'd catch him starting to rewatch his old recordings, Alpine would show up with a toy in her mouth, ready to play. When Ava was having a bad pain day, Alpine always seemed to find her, ready to keep her company and let the soothing vibrations of her purrs help ease Ava's discomfort. When Walker started to get unusually quiet and withdrawn, Yelena would find them asleep together in the living room, both snoring gently. And when Yelena was having a bad day, one where she had to fight the urge to break into the alcohol supply her dad insisted on keeping behind lock and key, Alpine would attempt to play with her guinea pig or follow her around the whole day.
When Yelena looked up into Bucky's patient eyes, they had a knowing gleam in them.
"Why now?" Yelena asked quietly, searching Bucky's face as if she could find the answer there. Why did Alpine wait this entire time? Bob had gone Void before when she was in the Watchtower. What made this time different?
"I'm…not sure," Bucky admitted, ducking his head as though he was embarrassed of his own uncertainty.
Yelena glanced down the hallway and noticed something she hadn't ever seen before. When Bob went Void, he was always so careful about it. He'd message them and say he was fine but needed some alone time. He'd draw all the curtains to make sure no one could see in. And he'd shut and lock the door. Yelena had pulled up video footage of it before. You could see the doorknob shutting, hear the telltale sound of a lock clicking into place, and even see the jiggle of the handle where Bob made sure it was firmly locked. This time, there was a crack.
"Did you open the door?"
Bucky shook his head. "No. I found it like this. Went to look in on Bob and found them asleep together."
They stood in silence for a while, thoughts whirring in both of their heads. They stayed like that for a while, each staring at the impossible inky blackness that threatened to flood out of the open door and into the hallway. Yelena's hand itched to close it, to keep the roiling darkness at bay. Or at least to join Bob, to stay with him and keep him company while he fought the kind of battles she went through but amplified by a million. But she didn't need to. Alpine was already there.
Bucky didn't stop Yelena this time when she walked past him. He didn't stop her when she pushed the door open a fraction more, just enough to see the mass of shadows on the bed in the shape of her best friend and the bright, white pile of fluff on his chest whose fur seemed to catch the light of the hallway and amplify it, shining like a beacon in the pitch black room. She didn't hear footsteps, but it didn't surprise Yelena when Bucky was suddenly right next to her, inching the door open even further to see for himself.
He had been right. Even from here, they could both see the slow, deep rise and fall of Bob's chest, the one that meant he was fast asleep.
"I don't really understand it," Bucky said, his voice the ghost of a whisper. "But I'm glad. He looks…almost peaceful." Maybe his super soldier eyes could see better than hers could. All she could see of Bob was the shape of his head against his light blue pillow. The Void never seemed to have any features besides his outline, but maybe Bucky saw something she didn't.
When they left, they didn't shut the door behind them. They only closed it back to the way it was before they inched it open.
Yelena's own words to Bob echoed in her head as she and Bucky walked away, the ones she spoke to Bob in the Void all those months ago, the ones she meant with every fiber of her being.
"You can't stuff it down. You can't hold it in all alone. No one can. We have to let it out, we have to spend time together. And even if it doesn't make the emptiness go away, I promise you, it will feel lighter."
They'd done their best to help Bob, but she had been right - the emptiness doesn't go away. It seemed obvious now that they were wrong to let Bob keep his secret, to let him isolate himself. It had seemed like the right thing to do. Certainly, Bob would be embarrassed and scared and upset when he found out he wasn't protecting them the way he surely thought he was. But maybe they weren't saving Bob that pain. Maybe they were just saving themselves from it.
Bucky didn't seem surprised when Yelena called a team meeting that night, both to update them on the new development and to tell them her decision. No one disagreed. The looks they shared when they thought she wasn't looking were unmistakable; the team was worried. But they weren't afraid. They all trusted Yelena. And, at the heart of the matter, they trusted Bob, too.
When Yelena knocked on Bob's door the next day, she didn't even have to turn the door handle to open it when he told her to come in. She just pushed against it, and it gave way easily, gliding open to reveal his room the way it was when Bob was having a good day - curtains open to let in the natural light, Bob on his bed idly watching TV while mindlessly playing with a fidget toy, the room in the perfect state of organized disarray Bob preferred to keep it in. There was a new edition, however. Alpine was curled up next to him, her purrs audible even from the doorway.
"That's new," Yelena said, gesturing at the little fuzzy motor humming in his lap.
Bob's smile wasn't as full as it was on regular euythmic days when he wasn't leaning either manic or depressive. He was still in the throes a depressive episode, after all. But it was a genuine one. When he stroked her fur, Alpine purred impossibly louder.
"Yeah," Bob said, his voice stiff with disuse but not as slow and hazy around the edges as it had been before. "She joined me last night. I don't know why."
He gestured for Yelena to join him, and she did, settling down to watch some old 80s sci-fi movie Bob had turned on. She didn't recognize it, but that wasn't a big surprise. It looked nostalgic and fun, and judging from the small smile on Bob's face, it was exactly the kind of comforting thing he needed.
"You always have your door closed," Yelena noted, gesturing at it. "But it wasn't closed when I knocked."
"Oh. I guess I…forgot to close it last night," Bob said, pausing as if thinking. He shook his head as if physically banishing his thoughts from his mind. "That's weird."
"Hmm. Maybe that's a good idea." Yelena noticed some sour gummy worms Bob had been snacking on. She'd monitored his door all morning to try to catch him if he left it, but he hadn't budged. This must've come from his personal stash, aka his bedside table for those late night sugar cravings.
"What is?" Bob asked, taking the opportunity to grab a few more himself.
"Not closing the door all the way," Yelena said after she chewed and swallowed one gummy, savoring the tingle on her tongue from the addictive citric acid and sugar combo.
"What do you mean?" Bob asked, dangling one of his gummy worms in front of Alpine, who pawed at it lazily for his amusement. She purred even faster when he chuckled at her antics.
"You always lock yourself in here on bad days," Yelena noted. Even out of the corner of her eye, it was unmistakable when Bob's whole body froze. This conversation was not going to be an easy one. Fortunately, she had an ally in Alpine, who nudged Bob's free hand with her forehead. His muscles loosened slightly as he pet her.
He didn't respond for a while, just sitting there watching the TV with a faraway look that meant he wasn't absorbing anything on the screen at all.
"Sometimes it's just easier that way," he mumbled, almost as if talking to himself.
"I get that," Yelena said, going in for another gummy worm and popping it in her mouth. She spoke between chews, making sure not to smack her lips and irritate Bob's misophonia. "Sometimes you need to be alone when you feel down. Calm down. Regulate your emotions. Not lash out at others."
Bob nodded his head, relaxing even further.
"But look what happened when you didn't lock yourself in," Yelena said, gesturing at the fluffy white cat. Just half a day ago, she had publicly shunned Bob. Now she was in his lap, looking up at him and making kitty kisses with her eyes, not minding that he didn't seem to understand and return them the way Yelena had seen Bucky do.
Bob hummed his acknowledgement of her words but kept his eyes on the screen as if he couldn't look at Yelena directly.
Yelena relaxed further into the bed, pulling a spare blanket off the floor to cover her. Her movements were careful so as not to drape it over Alpine, who she knew very well detested being covered up.
Today wasn't the day for the full conversation, Yelena knew that. But she couldn't resist putting in one last thought before she turned the conversation to other things, mindless things like reality television and idle Tower gossip.
"You know, sometimes you just gotta leave the door open. You never know who you'll let in."