Monster

Twenty-Six

After everyone left, I tracked down the storage unit Romanoff had rented for all my things. If Bucky knew who I was, I didn't see the point in wasting money to keep stuff hidden. It was already afternoon by the time I got home. And even though I 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 long time.

The only thing that worried me is that Bucky hadn't actually stayed the night. I knew he slept there 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 us when he left in the morning. So neither of us could pinpoint the time he must have slipped out.

Unfortunately, the house was still empty when I got home. I shut the door with my foot and lugged the box into my house. I dumped it onto the couch and glanced around. Nothing was out of place.

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

Later, I had my clothes back in my closet and was sitting on the wooden floor of my bedroom, going through the box of military paraphernalia I'd acquired over the years. I was sifting through them more for forgotten memories than anything else. But I heard the floor creak. And when I turned around, Bucky was standing in my bedroom door.

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

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

"You can sit down." He took the chair by the window so he could watch me sort through my things, but he was more interesting than any lost memory anyway. So I shoved the entire box into the closet and shut it. I turned to face him and tucked my legs under me, feeling a thousand times lighter now that I didn't have to lie about who I really was. "I got in trouble this morning for blowing my cover," I told him. "But I think it worked out okay. Steve is going to come by tonight to get his things. He said he'd like to stay for dinner. I'd like it if you joined us."

He was gazing off across my room, tracking the shadows of the trees on the walls. I might have thought he was scowling if I didn't know any better. I'd seen the real scowl, and this was something softer. Contemplative.

"Are you trying to tame me?"

"Was that a joke?" I asked. His expression lightened even more, hinting toward amusement. But he never smiled. "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."

"Can I convince you to stay the night again?"

"I will 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 quickly enough before he stopped it.

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

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

I stood and reached out my hand for him to take. He studied it for a moment, but I didn't budge. I kept holding it until he slid his warm hand into mine. Then he stood and let me pull him downstairs.

He 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 even caught glimpses of affection and amusement. But I'd never seen him anxious until now. He had no idea how to heat up jarred spaghetti sauce on an electric stovetop.

"I'm sorry," he said as I guided him through the process.

"Don't be." I handed him a wooden spoon my mom insisted was better than any other spoon. He stirred the pot as if the entire thing might burst into flames if he stopped for even a moment.