remains • b. barnes

3

The next morning, I overslept. Probably because I was up most of the night thinking about Dr. Foyle and the ruins.

Before the Blip, I was 22, and I'd just moved into the old compound, where I'd been working on engineering projects with Tony for years already. I had just finished my second PhD. And before that, I'd lived in tiny NYC studio apartments and my mother's house while I earned a couple of computer engineering and robotics degrees at other obnoxiously young ages. All of that was gone (the original compound destroyed, the NYC housing market in a post-Blip crisis, Tony dead, my mother dead).

Now, I was living in a little town in upstate New York, and my apartment had three bedrooms, and I wasn't sure what to do with all the space. I didn't have enough stuff to fill it with, really. My commute was only ten minutes (when I'd been commuting out of NYC, it had been an hour on a good day), and I wasn't quite sure what to do with all the extra time, either. Sometimes I'd take extra care getting ready, other times I'd sleep a little longer. Usually, though, I'd just think about getting ready or sleeping while I just laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, dreading work.

But now I was late. For the first time since the new compound opened, too, so I just knew Bucky would think I was avoiding him when I wasn't on the elevator. That was my first thought—I didn't want to have to summon the courage to seek him out and tell him Actually I really wanted to see you. I thought it was gonna be the only good thing about coming in to work today. Also, can I sniff you again? I'm pathetic.

By the time I rushed into the building, it was already thirty minutes past my usual time. No Bucky in sight. I speed-walked into the elevator. My thumb hovered over the button for my floor for a split second, and I almost pressed the one next to it instead. I almost went to Bucky's office to tell him. But my stomach was churning already, so I pressed the button for my own floor.

Then Dr. Foyle slipped in too, with surprising agility and lightness of foot, just as the doors were closing. I shuffled to the other side of the elevator. He pressed the same button as yesterday.

I missed Bucky. My heart rate picked up when he was here, too, but not in a bad way. Not like this.

Dr. Foyle smelled strangely, something I hadn't noticed before, a strong aroma that I couldn't quite place—more of a mix of oils and spices from a kitchen than a usual bodily fragrance. A little musty, too, which felt out of place in the brand new building. He might have picked up the scent of the books he worked with.

"Late start?" he observed, looking forward at the doors still, chin tucked in toward the collar of his turtleneck.

"Mhm," I said. I turned to look at the doors again too.

"9 more days," he said loftily, glancing at me, like that was a secret code.

I did the math. "Yeah..." I said. Until October 17th, he meant. Exactly one year since the battle happened here.

"I'm conducting research," he remarked. "I thought you might be too?"

I didn't reply, but I stole another look at him, up and down. I frowned at the sight of dirt on his loafers. Just a brush of it, there and on the knees of his khakis, too. It was loose dirt—the sort that was left in places that had been blasted to hell, where no grass would ever grow again.

I was relieved when the elevator stopped, but it wasn't my floor. Or Dr. Foyle's. But the relief came back even stronger when the doors opened and Bucky stepped on. I absolutely beamed at him. He gave me a small nod and stood in the space between me and Dr. Foyle, since there was so much of it.

I stopped smiling and looked at the floor. I was still relieved that he was here, but I was a little hurt. I'd thought for sure he'd talk to me next time I saw him like this.