Monster

Eleven

I knew I'd scared Barnes away by suggesting he call the police. There was a possibility he'd never come back, and I couldn't blame him if he didn't. Steve decided if a month went by without contact, we'd go our separate ways. He'd go back to hunting instead of playing house, and I'd have to find a new way to pay my mortgage. The first thing on my to-do list was to quit the job at the diner. And I knew I should be grateful to be employed, but I might end up just taking Tony up on his offer anyway.

Romanoff said I should treat the mission like a vacation, but that wasn't easy. I hated waiting tables more than I hated training in the heat and trying to memorize Latin medical terms. But I had to keep up the charade that I was just a simple waitress who never did anything more exciting than spending the night with Captain America every few nights.

A few days after Barnes showed up in the kitchen, Steve left early in the morning and told me he wouldn't be back for a while. He had to go to New York for a meeting with Tony. My nervousness about Barnes coming had waned considerably as the days passed. So I didn't have quite the same reaction when I walked into the living room after work and found him leaning over my couch to shut the blinds.

I stopped short in my tracks, and the movement was so abrupt that my sneakers squeaked against the hardwood floor. He only glanced at me before the blinds shut and sent the room into shadow.

"You came back," I noted.

"Yes," he replied. But it came out like a huff of sarcasm. "Obviously," he was thinking.

"Can I check your arm?"

"Yes."

I motioned for him to take a seat, and he sat with his spine straight and eyes staring directly ahead. I cautiously sat down beside him and helped pull his arm out of his coat. The wound was swollen and puffy, but it was healing. I'd given him enough sutures that the rest would come back together on its own, but it might scar. I wasn't sure how his healing worked. But it was more rapid than expected. Each suture was long and frayed, the last one sticking out at the end where he'd apparently ripped it with something blunt. I never got the chance to trim them properly.

"It looks okay," I told him. "Would have been better if you let me finish, but it doesn't look infected. I don't know if you can get infections, but that's a good sign either way. I can take the sutures out if you come back in a few more days."

I wrapped my hand around his arm to pull it the rest of the way out of his coat sleeve. The bandage around his wrist was already dirty and falling apart. I unwrapped it and examined his swollen arm.

"You should have removed the bandage when it started to swell." I poked his arm again. "Or at least let it breathe when you were stationary. I would have told you that if you weren't in such a hurry to leave."

"I didn't know."

"Well, lucky for you. I picked up a few things just in case you came back." I stood up and went to the kitchen to find the bag. When I returned, he hadn't moved, but his eyes followed me as I took the seat beside him. "I got you a wrist brace." I ripped off the tag and pulled his arm back into my lap so I could secure it around his wrist. "If it starts to swell again, you should probably give it some breathing room and put some ice on it. But I don't think you'll have any problems. You can get ice here if you need to." I let him go, and he pulled his arm back through the sleeve.

I examined him now that I could. He was still wearing the baseball cap, and his brown hair was secured at the nape of his neck with a cheap rubber band he'd probably stolen from a newspaper. Even though he'd shut the blinds, the room was bright enough for me to see his face. He had an almost full beard and looked tired and dirty. He kept his eyes off mine. He obviously didn't like eye contact, and I couldn't blame him for that.