The Collection- Bucky Barnes

Aposematic- i

Their meeting, to him, is entirely coincidental. Should he believe in that sort of thing. Everything, for her, happens for a reason. She can't afford to think any other way.

It's a coffee shop. One he frequents and therefore, one she finds herself at every morning at eight-twenty. Awaiting his arrival. He walks in every morning at exactly eight-thirty. Dressed casually, jeans and a cotton shirt. Never suits. Sometimes, on occasion, athletic wear. On those mornings, his hair is pulled back from his face in a bun tied at the nape of his neck.

He gets in line and orders a standard black coffee, paired with a plain bagel and cream cheese of the normal variety. And while he does, she sits at her chosen table, opting for the side that provides the best view. Of him. Slim laptop in front of her, blank screen. An untouched coffee next to it (she can't stand the stuff).

It's two weeks before they speak. If he notices her, she never sees. Her eyes watch him like a predator, they never leave. Focus, for her, is key. To life. To survival. Maybe they're the same thing.

Two weeks. For her time limit, that's pushing it. Two weeks is too long and she doesn't have time to waste. Not here. Not with him. Waiting for him is not going to work. A misjudgment on her part, a rare occurrence.

And so, she does what any woman would. She picks up her coffee cup, leaves her table, and heads straight for the sugar and cream station. Or rather, him. A strategic stumble forward just next to him. Her body jolts forward and the coffee cup slips from her grasp. It crashes on the ground, lid busting from the cup, dark liquid pooling. Oh, what a mess.

"Oh, shit." He moves fast, impossibly so. His left hand, metal (cybernetic, she reminds herself), clutches her and keeps her from falling to the floor. "You okay?" His eyes are wide, bright blue. Stubble lines his jaw and mouth, a clean cut so it's precisely the length he wants. Kept, not untidy.

"Uh, yeah." The words aren't comfortable leaving her mouth. Not her own, but they'll have to do. "But my coffee isn't." A forlorn look at the mess she's made. "I'm sorry for bumping into you. Two left feet."

"I'm the one that should be apologizing. Made you spill your coffee."

One of the workers, a young girl, younger than herself, comes with a mop. "Sorry." She amends, this time to the worker.

"Happens a lot. No worries. Need another cup?"

She shakes her head. The girl finishes cleaning up the deliberately made mess and walks to the back.

"Let me buy you another." He offers.

With a shake of her head, "No, it's all right. I have to go anyway." She starts back to the table she had occupied and closes the laptop. She slips the thin piece of technology int the leather carrier bag and pulls it over her shoulder.

It's when she turns to leave that she sees him. Out of the queue for coffee and right in front of her. Very rarely is she surprised. This is one for the books. "I've seen you here before." Not at all a question.

So, he has noticed her. To say her interest is piqued is an understatement.

"It's quiet." She says. "I like the quiet." And so does he. Apparently.

He nods thoughtfully. "You live around here?" He glances around the shop and out the window.

Her brow furrows just so. She takes a step back from him. "I have to go now."

His eyes soften with resolve. "I'm sounding like a real creep, aren't I?"

"You are a stranger asking about my living situation."