Monster

Twenty-Seven

Dinner went surprisingly well. Steve and Bucky did most of the talking. Or at least Steve did, with occasional answers or grunts from Bucky. But he was making more of an effort to be social. And he did sometimes ask questions that Steve was eager to answer. Sometimes Steve told him funny stories about the things they got up to as kids, and Bucky would give that soft, almost smile again. Though I could tell he didn't always know what Steve was talking about. I was sure Steve saw it too.

When we were cleaning up, my phone began to ring. Clara's name flashed across the screen, and since things were out in the open, I excused myself. I took the phone to the living room, where they (hopefully) couldn't overhear.

"Hey," I said, throwing myself down onto the couch.

"What the hell are you doing?" Clara asked.

"I just finished dinner. Why?"

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about you volunteering to play babysitter to the Winter Soldier."

"He's not–that's not who he is anymore. And I'm not his babysitter. I'm just helping him out."

"Do you have any idea how stupid that is?"

"Excuse me?"

"He's dangerous, Jo. I know he seems fine right now, but he's a ticking bomb."

"I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to make decisions for myself. I asked for this job, Clara. It's not like it landed in my lap."

"Except that it did land in your lap, and as usual, you're diving headfirst into the deep end. This guy has latched himself onto you, and you're doing what you always do, which is play mama duck to every sad, pathetic little creature who so much as blinks in your direction."

"I don't think this is any of your business."

"No, it is my business because I'm worried sick about you, and you're going to lose your home, at the very least. Not to mention the myriad of other things you're putting at risk. Like your life, for instance. It's my job to make sure you're okay, and you're making it very fucking difficult."

"It's not your job to make sure I'm okay. I'm doing just fine on my own."

"I'm your big sister, and it will always be my job to make sure you're okay. And you always get yourself into situations where your life and mental state are at risk."

"My mental state is just fine."

"For now, maybe! And so is his! For now! What about when he snaps and pulls a gun on you? What if he comes after you with that stupid arm of his and chokes you to death? Or bashes your head in? What if we can't get to you fast enough, Jo?"

"He's not going to do that. He's doing really well, and he genuinely wants to do better. I want to help him. And not because I'm playing mama cat, but because I know what it's like to have to do this alone. And I know nothing will help him better than having someone. He's making progress because he has a support system."

"You've never had to be alone. I've always done whatever I could to be there for you. You were the one who moved to DC instead of staying in Ohio or coming to New York. I offered to have you stay here. We said we'd help you find a new job."

"You're right. I should have just continued mooching off my parents or you, right? I should have sold my house so I could go stay on your couch. Even if I stayed in Ohio or went to live with you, I'd still be alone. None of you really understood what I was going through. You didn't have to watch people die. You never had to kill anyone."

"You think I've never seen someone die? You think I can't support you because I don't have PTSD? I'm not sure if you know this, Jo, but a lot of people died here. And I watched it happen." I sighed and dropped the pillow onto my face to block out the sunlight. And also to stop myself from throwing my phone at the wall.