Monster

Ten

The buzzing of my cell phone brought me out of my daze. I was still sitting on the kitchen floor, rubbing my collarbone and thinking about cleaning up the trickle of blood he'd left behind. It was late, and I wasn't expecting anyone to call, so the loud noise brought my attention back into sharper focus. I stood and found the phone on the counter. My sister's name flashed across the clear glass screen. I accepted the call and lifted it to my ear.

"Hello?" I asked, clearing my throat and trying to find my voice. I could see directly into my backyard. The neighbor's light wasn't on. So it was a dark wasteland full of shadows.

"Is he still there? Short answers. No details." It was Tony.

"No."

"Did he hurt you?" My collarbone ached, and the back of my head burned. I hesitated to tell him the truth.

"No."

"You think he'll be back tonight? Should I call Rhodey? He's on standby."

"No. It's fine."

"Do you need any help? Anything at all?"

"No."

"All right–let me know if you need me."

"I will."

"Goodnight. Keep safe."

"You too."

I disconnected and set the phone back on the counter. My fingers weren't shaking anymore, and now that the adrenaline had run its course, I was exhausted. But I had to get rid of the blood before it dried and stuck to the floor. So I went through the robotic motions of finding supplies. Then I sat on the floor to wipe the blood away. It left behind a smear of violent red. I had to shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

My CO, Russell, used to make me count to four and imagine my heart beating along. It was how he kept me grounded when he thought I needed it. He reminded me to do it the day we were standing in an alleyway listening to the sound of gunfire and bombs, just moments before I watched a friend die right before my eyes.

"One, two. Three, four," I whispered, imagining my heart beating along. Steady. Calm. Safe.

Blood never used to bother me so much. It didn't seem like a problem when I was putting sutures in Barnes's arm, but now that it was smeared on the floor, my stomach felt queasy. I swore I could smell the sickly metallic scent of it hanging in the air. It reminded me of that day, with Tran's blood splattered on my face and a little girl bleeding out over my hands.

It was all in my head, I reminded myself. I couldn't actually smell the blood. There wasn't enough of it. I took another deep breath and counted everything I could smell: bleach, my shampoo, and antiseptic cleansing wipes. No blood. I opened my eyes again, counting heartbeats, and washed it away.

I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw blood and felt my fingers digging into flesh, searching for a slippery artery. Even though I barely knew Steve, my house felt safer when he was there. So I paced back and forth in my bedroom, watching the tree's shadows on the walls. 

It was a windless night, but the old house still creaked and groaned. Every sound made my heart jump into my throat. Romanoff called him a ghost, and my room was full of shadows.

I was too lost in my own thoughts to hear the rumble of a motorcycle engine. I jumped when the front door closed downstairs, but remembered Barnes hadn't made a sound. He'd slipped into my house without notice in the few short minutes it took me to walk Steve out. So it had to be Steve.

I could hear him doing a quick check of the house like he always did. Romanoff said he was supposed to appear comfortable and relaxed here, but it was in his nature to be cautious. Barnes would probably find it suspicious if he wasn't checking every room. I heard him on the stairs and resumed pacing. I didn't want him to catch me standing by the window, clutching my sweater to my shoulders like a timid deer.

"Hey, I thought you'd be asleep by now," he said when he opened the door. He was casual. So Stark must not have told him. He crossed the room and draped his jacket over the reading chair I had set under the window. The one I never read in. His shield came to rest on the floor beside it.

"Couldn't sleep," I said. He glanced around the room and then focused on my clutched hands. I was holding my sweater to myself, too anxious to sleep. His eyes found mine and then took half a second to morph from friendly to stern.

"The kitchen smells like bleach," he whispered. Then I saw Casual Steve disappear, and now I was seeing Steve the Avenger. He pulled my clenched fist from my sweater to reveal my shoulders. There were scars on one side, and the marks Barnes's metal fingers had left on the other.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked.

"I thought Stark would have," I admitted.

"Stark never tells me anything. Why does the kitchen smell like bleach?"

"He was injured. It was minor. At least what he let me see. I had to reset a broken wrist, and I managed to stitch up most of a cut before he panicked and left." I took a deep breath. "I don't think he was ready to see you. He was–paranoid. Wouldn't hold eye contact for very long. He looked uncomfortable and agitated."

"What is he afraid of?"

"I don't know. But it sounded like he still thinks he has to kill you. Like he was programmed and failed. And he gets physical when he's overwhelmed."

"He hurt you."

"I've had worse, honestly. It's nothing."

His eyes flicked to my other shoulder, where the scars from a bullet wound were thick and visible in the near dark. He stepped away so I could pull the sweater back up. I went to pull the sheets back. I hated admitting that I felt safer with him there. It was natural to be afraid of Barnes. If it had been any other intruder, I might not be so nervous. But most intruders weren't trained killers with above-average strength and skill. If I couldn't have anything stronger than a bracelet and a sparkly pink knife, I at least felt safety in numbers. Especially with someone equally skilled and strong.

He took the pillow I'd picked up, tossing it aside into the pile of unnecessary bed decor that Romanoff's team brought.

"You should have told me," he said. "Regardless of what Stark said or did." He was more tense than usual, but I felt the opposite.

"Steve," I said, just as quietly, but with more sternness to my tone. "I don't think he's ready to talk to you. I can handle it if he shows up again. I don't think he meant to hurt me. He let me go as soon as I pointed it out. But he's obviously still got some bugs that aren't going away overnight. I can tell you one thing, though. He's trying. Or at least he wants to. And right now, that's all that matters."

"You think you can fix him?"

"You can't fix people. But he showed himself to me for a reason. He still thinks he has to kill you, but he's capable of knowing he shouldn't. He's piecing things together. He responded to his name. But he's still very confused. He needed help, and he came to me because I'm exactly what you and Romanoff wanted. I'm safe. He'll reach out to you when he's ready." His lips were pinched shut, but he nodded once.

"Just promise me I can trust you. He's all I have left, Jo." He wasn't afraid that I'd hurt Barnes, but that I'd turn him over.

"You chose me for a reason too. Or Romanoff did. I don't know, but I know I can do this. I won't let anything happen to him if I can help it."

"If he gets physical again–you need to press that button. I'll be here as fast as I can."

"I know. I will."