Monster

Twenty-One

I hated waiting tables. I said it all the time, but I felt it every time I was in that damn diner. When I took up work at a pancake house, I threw myself a party when I'd saved up enough money to afford my prom dress. And okay, it wasn't a real party. I mostly just conned an adult into buying me malt beer and snuck out to get drunk in an empty field. It was a one-woman kind of party.

Of course, my parents thought quitting was a significant adolescent failure. And reminded me of my inability to commit to anything when I decided to join the army. They told me the military would be much more challenging than waiting tables, but their lack of faith in me fueled me enough to get through basic training. And I ended up proving them right anyway.

By the time the lunch shift started, I already had a raging headache, and my feet and back hurt. I wanted to go home and take a nap. The only good thing about the job was that it kept me busy enough to keep my mind off of Bucky and the fact that Hydra had blown up my car and my favorite sunglasses.

When the lunch rush was over, I took a break and sat down in the storage room with a couple of old crates. I leaned on my knees and rubbed the ache from my forehead. I was glad I wasn't entirely unemployed anymore. But the thought of working for Stark in his nice, comfortably air-conditioned tower was more appealing with every shift.

The door swung open, and Megan/Morgan poked her head in.

"Hey, I know you're on break," she said. "But some creepy guy just came in asking for you. I seated him in the back booth where you always sit with Sam." I nodded and stood up.

"Yeah, alright. Okay."

I didn't know what she meant by "creepy guy," but I followed her back out to the front anyway. I stopped short in the doorway to the kitchen when I spotted who was sitting in the back booth. He had his back to the wall but appeared much less confident about being there than Sam usually was. He was slouched over the table, obviously trying to look inconspicuous beneath a hood and baseball cap. He was wearing gloves in the humid heat and was glowering at everyone enough that the other waiters looked a little spooked by him.

"Is everything okay?" Morgan/Megan asked. "Do you want me to have him kicked out?"

"No, he's okay. He's a friend of mine. Get him a burger or something. And a Coke."

"Okay. I'll put the order in for you."

"Thank you."

I headed around the bar, and his shaded eyes found mine. He had his hand blocking his face, just in case anyone recognized him. But he was drawing more attention to himself just by looking so suspicious. I sat down across from him.

"The hood is very conspicuous, Bucky. You might want to take it off," I whispered. He slid it back off.

"I didn't want you to know I haven't brushed my hair." I smiled and reached across the table to hold his hands. He flinched, and it made me feel horrible.

"I missed you." Now he looked surprised, probably because of both the words and the gesture.

"It hasn't been that long."

"It's been long enough. I was starting to think I'd never see you again."

"I had to come back. They tried to kill you." I squeezed his hands. I had no idea how he found out about my car, but I appreciated that he came to check on me anyway.

"They didn't try to kill me. They were sending me a warning. You probably shouldn't have come here. Someone might recognize you. I don't know if I'm being followed."

"I didn't know where else to go."

"You're not in any trouble, are you?"

"No, I'm...." He stopped, but I saw his eyes drift to the bar where someone was being served a massive cheeseburger.