Monster

Sixteen

I was hoping Bucky would be back soon. But after that night, I didn't see him again for a while. Every time Steve left or I got home from work, I walked into an empty house feeling disappointed that no one was waiting for me. Whenever something tripped the sensor light next door, I went to the window, hoping it would be him. It never was.

Steve rarely slept in my bed. I knew it made him uncomfortable from the start, but after that first night, he would doze for a while, and then I'd wake up later to find him sitting on the back porch, waiting for the shadows to move. Sometimes I joined him. Sometimes I just brought him a quilt. But, most of the time, I left him alone with his thoughts.

I woke up one night to the soft murmur of his voice from the backyard. I wondered if he was on the phone, but when I went downstairs to check on him, he wasn't sitting in his usual spot on the steps. Instead, he was standing in the middle of the yard. Bucky was standing several feet away. He was wearing his own clothes again. I'd forgotten to take them out of the dryer, which meant he probably came back for them, and I never even noticed.

I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes. I was glad he was back and happier that he'd finally decided to talk to Steve. But they were standing so far apart, and their body language was tense. Both were ready to bolt or fight if the other made a move.

I couldn't make out what they were saying. They were speaking so low that only a few words managed to slip through the darkness. The only thing I knew for sure was that Bucky was telling Steve he could never "be" Bucky again.

I knew it wasn't my place to get involved in their conversation. They were long overdue for a talk and needed to be alone, but it was getting under my skin. I paced a few times before Steve loudly cleared his throat.

"You can come out, Jo," he said. I cringed and popped my head around the corner.

"I wasn't eavesdropping, I promise," I said. "Well, maybe just a little." Steve just smiled and motioned me over. So I met the two of them on the grass. "I didn't mean to overhear. I just came to check on you. And I know it's wrong. Your business is yours."

I looked up at Bucky. He still had his hair tied back, but the cap was gone. Even though he was messy and dirty again, he looked like he'd at least tried to clean himself up before coming.

"Look," I said, nervously twisting my fingers. "I know that you feel—disconnected. From your past and the whole world. And I know that you want him back, Steve. But that Bucky isn't coming back. Just like that Steve won't come back. And you may still be him, but you're not the same. That's the whole point of living, though. We change. And Bucky—you're at a crossroads now. You can be whoever you want to be—Bucky or the Winter Soldier or someone entirely new. The choice is yours. But no matter who you were in the past—those people will still be part of you. You just have to choose how you want to live your life from this moment on."

He looked across the yard, and Steve watched him. I didn't mean to make a speech, but I didn't want him to think he had to try to be something he wasn't anymore. When I came back, I knew I wasn't the same girl who'd left, the one with blind optimism and a thirst for adventure. I couldn't be that girl again, even if I wanted to. Coming to that realization was an essential part of the recovery process.

"Bucky has people who love him," I continued since neither of them spoke. I pulled my sweater around my arms to keep the chill out but stared at the grass. "He doesn't have to be alone if he doesn't want to be. And if you decide you don't want to be Bucky anymore—you don't have to. But I know from experience that it won't go away. Bucky will always be part of you, and so will the Winter Soldier. And so will Steve." I took a deep breath. "And me if you let me."

"They're going to come looking for me," he said. "Whatever's left of them. They're not going to let me go so easily. And if they don't get to me first—someone else will. There's no life for me in this world. Not like the life you have." I bit my lip and nodded.

"Yeah, I know. Just know that you have a place here. And Steve will do what he can to protect you. Even if you think you don't need it. Steve and me and—my friends. If you want to start your life over as some boringly average person, we can try to help. Whatever choice you make, we can help."

"How did you do it?" he asked. "How did you decide who to be?" I took a deep breath and shuffled my feet on the cold, damp grass.

"I ran away," I admitted. "I thought I was hurting the people who loved me, but—I miss them. And I'm lonely. And it wasn't until I was gone that I realized they were the only ones who could help, and it hurt them more to leave. When I'm with the people I love—I feel like I can be me again. Even if I'm not the same as before."

"What if that isn't an option? What if being with the people you're told you love isn't an option?"

The crickets were loud, and the sky was hazing with dull light pollution and low-lying clouds. I wanted to ask him why it wasn't an option for him, but I wasn't sure what he meant—either Steve or Hydra or whoever he'd left in his past. I just didn't have an answer.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I guess you just have to do whatever you can to be the best version of yourself. Be true to who you are. Even if it's not what other people want."

He reached out and pressed the palm of his hand against my cheek like I'd done that night on the couch. The metal was freezing against my skin, but I leaned into it anyway. He'd been a weapon who'd been broken and tortured, but there was still warmth in his heart. I wanted him to see it in himself. Even if he wasn't Bucky anymore.

"Then I have to go," he murmured.

"Please don't leave?" He looked conflicted but stepped away anyway. He cast one last glance at Steve before hopping over the fence that separated my yard from my neighbor's. The light came on, but the night went quiet except for the sound of crickets and distant police sirens. Steve moved to my side, but neither of us spoke until the light turned off and flooded the yard with darkness again.

"Do you think he'll be back?" I asked.

"I don't know," he replied.

I turned and headed back to the house. I made it all the way to the bedroom before the heaviness sunk in. I sat down on the bed and faced the dark window. My eyes felt hot like I wanted to cry. And I hated crying. I hated my job. I wanted life to go back to normal. Not my normal, though, I supposed. Not nightmares and loneliness and filing paperwork in a boring office that wouldn't even allow music to drown out my own thoughts.

I wanted to go home to Ohio to my bedroom with the silly posters and my sister's irritating organization rules. Where I could sleep without fear and be still blissfully unaware of suffering. I wanted to return to a time when I didn't have to count my own heartbeats just to do routine tasks or remind myself what was real and what wasn't.

The floor creaked. Steve knew I was upset too, but I'd wiped the moisture from my eyes before he could see. I hated crying in front of people more than crying itself.

"I don't want this mission to be over, Steve," I said, despite how badly I wanted to go home to my mom and dad. "I don't want to fail."

"I don't think we failed, Jo," he said. "We did exactly what we set out to do. We made contact. And to be honest, I think it worked out far better than I expected. He's not himself, but I don't think I expected him to be. He wants to be a good person. That's more than I could have hoped for. He chose to leave because you told him to be the best version of himself even if it wasn't what others wanted. He thinks this is best for us."

"How could it be best for anyone? I told him we wanted him here."

"He thinks you're my girlfriend, Jo."

"So?" I turned to face him. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His eyebrows rose, and he smirked like I was missing something undeniably obvious.

"You really didn't notice?" he asked. I shook my head, confused.

"I'm just trying to help. It's not like that."

"Maybe not for you." I turned away and ran my hands over my face.

"It can't be like that. We barely talk. He doesn't actually know anything about me."

"He doesn't have to, but I know Bucky better than anyone. You were the first person to show him any genuine kindness for a long time. Bucky was always a bit of a flirt already. But, honestly, it's a relief. It means some part of him is still there, even if he doesn't realize it or understand it. And I mean—I'm not surprised. You were always more his type than mine." I leaned on my elbows and looked at the tree shadows on the window.

"If that's the case, then I really messed up. That wasn't part of the plan."

"You didn't mess up. We'll stick to our plan. If he doesn't come back within a month, we'll move on. Like we agreed. But we should—be aware that he might come back again. Even if I'm not here anymore. Now that he's established something with you."

"I just don't want him to get hurt."

"I don't either."

I left out my other concerns. I didn't want to get hurt either. Not physically. I wasn't worried Bucky would harm me. But part of me—part of me wanted his suspicion to be true. And I didn't know what was worse. That Bucky possibly wanted me. Or that I wanted him back.