Demilitarization

7. Passersby Were Looking at Me As If They Could Erase It

            Natasha’s voice.  She heard Bucky, James, when he woke up.  His friend had that hunted look on his face again, which had faded.  He had almost looked like he would smile before Natasha had interrupted them.  In his long vigil, he had not really considered how he would explain his friend’s presence to the others.  How would Bucky react to everyone?  Would it be best to keep him isolated for now?  Or might it be good for him to have some human contact?

            “Steve?” she pressed, sounding concerned.

            He motioned for Bucky to stay where he was and got to his feet.  He opened the door slightly and looked out.  “You know I don’t speak Russian, Nat.  Maybe you’re hearing things.”

            She smirked.  “You’re a terrible liar.”  She glanced passed him into the room, a knowing look on her face.  “He’s here, isn’t he?  You found him.”

            Steve cleared his throat, listening to see if Bucky would react.  “He found me,” he admitted, lowering his voice.

            She raised an eyebrow.  “He got in here?”  He nodded, and she shook her head wordlessly.  “He’s good.”

            “Yeah,” Steve replied, smiling slightly.

            Natasha seemed to be waiting for something.  “Well.  I guess I’ll see you guys later,” she said slowly.

            “I think that would be best,” Steve replied, feeling relieved.

            “Tell him I said hi,” she called as she walked away.

            Steve shut the door and leaned against it, looking at Bucky.  He was still standing in the corner, but seemed more or less relaxed.  His arms were folded over his chest and Steve wondered, vaguely, if his metal arm made that uncomfortable.  “I’ve seen her before,” Bucky said slowly.

            “Yes, when you met me on the bridge.”

            “Attacked you,” Bucky corrected emotionlessly.  “She was the other target.”

            Steve shifted uncomfortably.  “Did you want to talk to her?”

            Bucky’s eyes focused on him suddenly, the intensity jarring.  “Do you trust me to talk to her?”

            “You haven’t attacked me since you got here.  So it seems like you’ve let that mission go,” he said carefully.

            “I don’t know.”

            “Well.”  Steve paused, unsure how to broach the next subject.  “Do you need some more sleep?”

            Bucky shook his head almost before he had finished the question.  “Too much sleep,” he grumbled.

            “Alright.  Do you want to get cleaned up while I get us some breakfast?” Steve suggested.

            Bucky looked down at himself, a perplexed look on his face.  “I used to get cleaned up before going to sleep,” he said quietly.

            Steve bit his lip to keep from saying what he wanted to say about the people who had done that.  “You won’t have to sleep after,” he promised.

            “Okay.”  He looked uncomfortable, but not in the distant way he had earlier.  It was a more present feeling.

            Steve showed him the bathroom and got him some clothes.  “You can use my razor if you want to shave.  We can get you a haircut later, too.  Have you been wearing those clothes ever since … the river?”