Monster

Twenty-Two

Bucky was unusually large in Tony's car. He was tall, but not overly tall. But he had broad shoulders and big arms and took up much more space than I anticipated. In fact, I tried to picture Steve in the car, and it got a real laugh out of me. I hadn't considered Bucky, though.

"Okay, so here's the deal," I told him as I drove. "When we get home, you should probably take a shower, and I'll walk you through washing your own clothes because I hate doing laundry. If you want to shave, then you should do that too. I don't know if beards are your thing or not, but I think you attract less attention without it.

"And I'm not trying to bark orders at you or anything. But I think it'll help. Then we can make dinner. I really can't afford to keep ordering out, and I'm not a very good cook, but I think I have some frozen meatballs and maybe some canned tomato sauce. It's probably not going to taste very good, but we'll have fun. Then we can call Steve."

"I don't really want him to know," he said. He was holding his arms around his middle and staring at the passing city. The windows were tinted enough to make him relax, but he still looked uncomfortably exposed.

"Can I ask why?"

"He makes me uncomfortable. I feel better with you." I nodded slowly.

"Alright. We'll hold off on calling Steve. But could you please stay the night this time? At least this once? You can leave in the morning after breakfast if you decide you don't want to stick around. But I don't know where you sleep at night. I'm guessing it's on the streets, and I don't like that. I have an extra bedroom, and it has a futon. It's probably not very comfortable, but I'm guessing it's better than the ground."

"I've never heard you talk so much." I laughed.

"I'm just glad you came back and that you're okay. I was really worried. I guess I'm just relieved. You can tell me to stop if I'm annoying you."

"No. It's fine. I like the sound of your voice."

I took a deep breath. It wasn't that I didn't find Bucky attractive. Especially with his hair in a ponytail and his beard shaved. He had a nice face and pretty eyes, and a nice body.

The problem wasn't that. It was just that there were too many problems to count. I couldn't narrow it down to only one. I was supposed to be in a relationship with Steve, for starters. Bucky probably hadn't been around many women since the 1940s, let alone one being kind to him. And the biggest problem was that Bucky had far too many of his own issues to worry about and clearly wasn't ready to deal with something as potentially harmful as romance. On the flip side, it was nice that he felt something at all and could recognize what it was.

Also, I wasn't even sure I was ready for something like that. I couldn't even fake date correctly. The last guy I dated turned out to be Hydra. And how do you even date a man on the run?

I wasn't even in the right place emotionally for something boring and stable. Considering my last relationship ended with my knife at his throat.

"Um—right. Well, that's the plan for tonight, alright? Does that sound okay?" I asked. I didn't want him to think I was trying to take control. But I was getting tired of the flighty thing. He needed a place to eat and sleep, and if he was going to try and make it on his own, he'd have to learn how to do things like use a washing machine and boil pasta.

"That sounds fine," he decided.

When we reached the house, I parked in the driveway. It felt even more bizarre that I would let him into the house through the front door like a normal person. We climbed out, and he flipped the hood back over his head as I dug through my bag for my keys.

He immediately tensed once the door was open. He didn't leave to scan the place like Steve, but he was clearly on edge. I led him up the stairs.

"What did you do with Steve's clothes that you borrowed?"

"I put them on the dryer," he said.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'll go find something for you to wear then. Here's a towel and stuff. You already know where everything is."

I piled up his arms and turned the bathroom light on for him. He passed me and shut the door, so I went to the kitchen to find something easy to make for dinner. I ended up going with a boxed meal I located in the back of the cupboard because it was all I had besides frozen meals. He didn't strike me as the type to be satiated by a single frozen dinner. And I wasn't in the mood to make spaghetti.

He came back down the stairs while I waited for the food to simmer. I was sitting at the kitchen table looking over the electric bill I couldn't afford. When I looked up, he was already standing in the archway.

"Jesus," I said with a jolt. "You guys really need to stop sneaking up on me like that."

"Sorry."

"And you're not—wearing a shirt." I turned my eyes back to the bill and tried to glue them there.

"You didn't bring me one."

I wasn't sure if that was a conscious choice or an accident.

"Sorry," I said, standing and keeping my eyes on the floor. "I'll go get you one."

"Does it bother you?" he asked when I reached him. I looked up at his cleaner, though still bearded, face.

"No, why would it bother me? It's not like I've never seen a man's chest before, Bucky." He cleared his throat.

"I meant the arm."

"Oh. Oh!"

I hadn't even thought about it. His skin was fused to the metal. Leaving ribbons of scars weaving around it. I could barely imagine the kind of surgery it would have required. The recovery would have been awful. I wondered if they'd given him anything to help with the pain. Despite all the terrible things they'd done, the arm was well made.

I put my hand on his shoulder. It was smooth and cold and strange in the way the plates shifted when he moved. But it still seemed oddly natural. I ran my hand over to where the metal met with his skin and I knew for sure he could feel me.

"No, it doesn't bother me," I said, looking back up. His eyes were bluer than I expected. He smelled nice now. "Does it still hurt?"

"It never stopped," he said. "But I don't notice it anymore."

That sounded terrible. I'd only been hit in the shoulder, and the pain still bothered me.

I ran my fingers over the scars that looked so similar to mine, and then a thought blindsided me. And I hated myself the moment it found its way into my mind. There were numerous reasons why it was wrong. But the thought came anyway. For just a moment, before I had the chance to push the idea away into the dark corners of my mind, I thought it might not be such a bad thing to let something happen between us. None of the things I was afraid of would really matter as much if we could find comfort in each other that way.

But I didn't even know him. Not yet. And that kind of attachment would take time. Which neither of us could afford. So the thought was absurd even for a slip-up. There was attraction, yes, but we hardly ever spoke. And we hadn't known each other long enough to laugh, joke, or build something. He thought I was in love with Steve. And Bucky didn't even know himself, let alone have time to know someone else. Especially not someone who barely knew herself. We were a mess, the two of us.

But there was definitely an attraction between us. And I didn't think it was one-sided. I could feel it buzzing between us like electricity. It wasn't new. I just hadn't acknowledged it before. Butterflies were dancing in my chest. My heart felt ready to burst. I had to take a deep breath to stop myself from moving my hand to his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

So I pushed the thoughts away before they could take hold of my mind. I didn't want to make an attachment where there couldn't be one. It was a terrible idea, and it could never happen. Maybe it was just because I was so lonely, and it was the first time someone seemed to show an interest in me in a long time. Even if it wasn't for the right reasons. I pulled my hand away and turned into the hallway.

"I'll be right back," I muttered.

"Okay," he replied.