Monster

Twenty-Six

After everyone left, I tracked down the storage place where Romanoff hid all my stuff. If Bucky knew who I was, then there was no point in wasting money by keeping my things there. It was already afternoon by the time I got home. And even though I'd started the morning with a lecture by a man I thought was dead, I felt a lot lighter on my feet than I had in a while.

The only thing I was worried about was the fact that Bucky hadn't actually stayed the night. I knew he slept for a while. Or laid there to humor me. But he was gone by morning. Steve said he hadn't heard anyone come down the stairs, and he didn't want to bother either of us when he left in the morning. So we couldn't pinpoint the time.

Unfortunately, the house was empty when I got home. I shut the door with my foot and lugged a box into the house, dumping it onto the couch.

"Bucky? Hello? Anyone home?" No one responded.

A little while later, I had my clothes back in my closet and was sitting on the bedroom floor, going through a box of military stuff. I was sifting through the forgotten memories when the floor creaked. I turned around to find Bucky in the doorway.

"Hey," I said with a smile. "When did you leave?"

"Early. I didn't want to bother you."

"You can sit down." He took the chair by the window so he could watch, but I ended up shoving the box into the closet before he could start asking questions. Then I turned to face him and crossed my legs. "I was in trouble this morning for telling you the truth. But I think it worked out alright. So Steve is going to come by later to get his things. He said he'd like to stay for dinner. If you'd like to join us, we want you there."

"Are you trying to tame me?"

"Was that a joke?" I asked. His expression hinted at amusement again, but the smile never showed. "I promise I'm not trying to tame you. I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I just want to help. So long as you're willing to accept it."

"I'll stay for dinner."

"Excellent. Will you stay the night again?"

"If you want me to."

"Okay. Awesome. Do you want to help me make dinner then?" He almost smiled again. As if it crossed his mind, but his body didn't respond fast enough before he shut it down.

"I'm not sure that I'll be of any help."

"We'll figure it out. C'mon, let's go see what we have."

I stood up and reached out my hand for him to take. He studied it, but I waited patiently until he lifted his right hand and slid it into mine. Then he stood to follow me downstairs.

Bucky wasn't lying when he said he wouldn't be much help in the kitchen. For the short time I'd known him, I'd seen him confused and curious; maybe I'd even caught a glimpse of affection and amusement. But now, he looked genuinely anxious. He had no idea how to heat up spaghetti sauce on an electric stove.

"I'm sorry," he said as I tried to guide him through the process.

"Don't be." I handed him a wooden spoon, and he stirred the pot. But he looked at it like the entire thing would burst into flames if he stopped stirring.

"You know a lot about cooking." I actually snorted with laughter as I turned away.

"Not really. I mean—it's from a jar. You just heat it up. Besides—I'm the one who forgot to set the timer for these frozen meatballs." I examined the bag. "Probably not even real meat, to be honest. Anyway. My mom did teach me how to warm up spaghetti sauce, at least. And I mean, I know how to work a modern electric stove."

"I don't remember my mom."

"I'm sorry, Bucky."

"I think I didn't—I don't think I had a mother." I watched him stir the sauce. "I think she died when I was young."

"I didn't know that."

"It's alright."

"Is there anything else you can remember?"

"I remember Steve's mom. She was nice. Like you."

"That's sweet," I said.

"I remember when we joined the war. Steve and I were in a class. Painting. We went together. They didn't accept him. I remember getting him out of fights. There was a girl. Connie. I remember the Commandos more now. And I remember when Steve found me."

"Can I ask who Connie is?"

"I think—I think she was my girlfriend. The one who said she'd wait."

"Sounds like you're starting to remember more."

"I don't remember small details. Events sometimes. Facts. Nothing important." They sounded awfully important to me.

"You will," I assured him anyway. "It gets easier in time. The small details are always the hardest. Sometimes you just need a bit of a push. Something to trigger the memory. I'm sure the more time you spend with Steve, the more will come back." He nodded and turned to the side. He wasn't looking at me, but I could see his face now that his hair was tied at the back of his neck.

"I think you help me remember," he said quietly.

"Me? Why me?"

"Because I feel comfortable with you." I smiled to myself, glad he wasn't looking.

"I'm happy to hear that. Now you know why I think we should stick together."

"You don't find it difficult? Having me around?"

"I think—it's more difficult not knowing where you are. If you want me to be honest with you."

"I appreciate honesty."

I could make out the rumble of Steve's motorcycle on the street. Bucky's shoulders tensed, and he stopped stirring. I probably could have told him he didn't have to keep going, but he seemed to like having a task.

"Promise you'll stay this time?" I whispered.

"I already did."

"I think the meatballs are ready. I'm going to bring them to you." I returned to his side, and he stepped back so I could slide them into the pot. When I finished and set the pan aside, he was already watching me.

"I have an idea," I said, taking the spoon from his hand. "I think you should spend the weekend with me. I don't have to work, and you're free to do whatever you want. But I think it might be good just to try. I'm not trying to tame you or anything. But you might need to practice a few things to care for yourself. In the regular boring kind of way. Like—domestic stuff. We can get some junk food and watch terrible movies you might have missed. If you want. How does that sound?"

The almost smile was back. His expression was relaxed, and the smile hinted at the corners of his mouth. If he stayed, I decided I'd make it my goal to get him to smile at least once before the weekend ended.

"That sounds—uneventful," he replied. But he sounded relieved about it. His lips turned up just a tad more, and my eyes narrowed.

"Are you smiling?"

"I might be." I laughed and heard the front door open from the living room.

"It's me," Steve called out.

"We're in the kitchen."

Bucky had gone tense again, so I put my hand on his shoulder to reassure him. He glanced at it as if startled by the contact, but then his eyes moved to mine. He never asked me to move away. His skin was warm beneath his shirt.

"Smells great," Steve said, appearing around the corner and smiling nervously. Bucky stepped away, and my hand slid from his shoulder.

"Tastes even better. Bucky helped with the sauce." Then he cringed.

"He never was any good at cooking." Bucky looked like he might scoff but turned back to the pan instead and took the spoon from my hand.

"He was never any good at breathing," he mumbled. He wasn't smiling anymore, but Steve was.