Monster

Twenty-Nine

I still couldn't sleep. I was stupid for kissing Bucky. It was the worst thing I could have done at that moment. I told him nothing could come of it, and there was nothing between us. And then I'd gone and kissed him just because he looked so nice in the shadows and seemed to know exactly what to say.

I was going to blame the loneliness. I hadn't had sex in—well, a long time. And Bucky was attractive, and I was definitely attracted to him, and he'd just been sitting there half-naked in the moonlight. Maybe if he'd only worn a shirt to bed, none of this would have happened.

So I lay there in bed clutching my pillow and wearing a shirt with a broken strap. I was frustrated, angry with myself, and probably wouldn't have slept if I was dead. Luckily, I didn't hear any more sounds from Bucky's room, and I didn't have to fight very hard to stay away. I sincerely hoped I hadn't scared him off. Although, I wouldn't blame him if he wanted to leave.

But he did promise to stay the weekend, and I hoped he followed through. Provided that I could still face him in the morning without embarrassment. It was still my job to make sure he was okay. He depended on me for emotional support, at the very least. And I didn't want all that to go to waste just because I stuck my tongue in his mouth.

Morning came as a relief. I hadn't gotten a full night's sleep, but when I did doze, it had been dreamless. I got out of bed as soon as the sky grew lighter beyond the trees. Then I jumped right into the shower to cool my head and remind myself of the ultimate goal. The problem was that I wasn't even sure what the ultimate goal was anymore. It was just like Clara said; it wouldn't last forever.

When I was done, I headed back down the hall to see if Bucky was awake. I rehearsed several things in my mind, trying to come up with something that might break the awkwardness. But I wasn't having much luck.

"Bucky?" I asked, tapping my knuckles on the door.

"Yes?" he responded. I didn't know if I should be relieved or worried. He hadn't snuck out after all. Now I definitely had to find something to say.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes."

I pushed the door open and found him sitting up at the edge of the futon. He still wasn't wearing a shirt, and his hair was messy and mostly in his face. It looked like he'd managed to actually get some sleep, and I instantly regretted my decision to come in. He looked a lot more than "nice" sitting in the early morning shadows.

"Um...," I said as I quickly averted my eyes and absently rubbed my wrist. "I was thinking of making breakfast. I usually just have cereal. If I eat at all. But I also don't usually have a guest. Steve never stays for breakfast. So I thought we could make waffles. I can show you how to use the waffle maker. It's not really an essential life skill, but my parents got it for me for Christmas, and I—eat them a lot...."

I was rambling again, and he knew that. I was also looking at everything but him. At least until he stood and came to stand right in front of me. He reached for my hand, and I almost flinched. But not because I was afraid. Just that I was still embarrassed about my behavior the night before.

Instead, he examined the marks on my wrist. I didn't even realize I was rubbing the soreness in my bones. I'd forgotten how I'd ended up in his bed in the first place. All I could think about was that kiss, and nothing else seemed to matter.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"It's a little sore," I admitted. "But it'll be fine. Why don't you—take a shower and all that stuff? Steve left some of his things. I'll just meet you downstairs when you're ready." He gave a quick nod before I slid my hand out of his and hurried back to my bedroom. I wanted to hit myself for acting like an idiot. This definitely wasn't the kind of stuff he should have had to deal with, and I was bumbling around him like a lovesick puppy.

While Bucky was in the shower, I wasted my time blow-drying my hair and getting ready for the day. I decided to wait until he was out of the bathroom before leaving my room. Just in case he was naked again, and I continued to act like a moron. Luckily, he wasn't. He was wearing Steve's clothes, and the colors were all wrong for him. He definitely wasn't a khakis kind of guy. I smiled when I met him in the hallway.

"So, waffles then?" I asked. He nodded.

"Waffles," he agreed.

I led him back down to the kitchen and set up the waffle maker. I walked him through how to do it even though it wasn't a necessary life skill. Within a few minutes, we'd made a colossal mess and more waffles than either of us could eat. But he seemed to be having fun, so I didn't ask him to stop.

And he also seemed to like the food. To be honest, I thought he just liked food in general. More specifically, he liked sweets. He put away more than I thought he could, and I made a mental note to spoil him when I went grocery shopping.

Once we finished cleaning up, I convinced him to get back in my car, so I could buy him a few things he needed. I was actually just afraid he'd sneak off if I left him in the house alone. But he reluctantly agreed to go with me, on one condition. That he didn't have to leave the car. So I felt a little weird going in and buying him things while he sat outside in the growing heat, glaring at passersby on the sidewalk.

When I rushed back out to the car, I found him sitting where I'd left him, with his hood up, looking extremely uncomfortable about the fact that Jarvis had shut off the air conditioner on him. Probably to be a brat. The AI had flat-out refused to respond to Bucky and only turned on the air conditioner when I asked for it.

"I got you a few things," I said after shoving the bags into the backseat. He was looking out the windows, watching people walking by.

"Okay," he replied.

"Alright. Groceries next. I know you don't want to get out of the car, but finding clothes that fit you was hard enough. I have no idea what kind of food you even like."

"I don't have a preference."

"You seemed to like waffles." I caught a glimpse of that ghost of a smile in his reflection.

"I like waffles," he agreed. "And pizza." I laughed and put the car in gear.

"Everyone likes pizza," I reminded him. "But I'll get us a couple of frozen ones."

I chose the most secluded mini-mart I could think of. It was on a less crowded street with a lot of shade and trees. I didn't think he was comfortable seated out in front of a barbershop, but the smaller store might make the trip quicker. I left Jarvis with strict instructions not to turn off the radio or the air conditioner and headed inside.

When I returned later, I walked across the street with multiple bags hanging from my arms. I had to leave a few of them on the curb to open the trunk, and when I reached for a jug of milk, someone was already lifting it for me. I hadn't even heard him get out of the car. He was standing on the sidewalk, still with his hood up to block his face. I smiled. I didn't blame him for wanting to stay hidden, but it was nice to see him out of the shadows for once.

I reached for the milk, and he handed it over. But before I could get it, it slipped out of his grip and went crashing onto the pavement, splattering milk all over both of us. He flexed his gloved fingers like they were bothering him again.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at the hand.

"It's okay."

I reached for what was left of the jug and stuck it in the trunk. I considered going back for more but decided against it. I wanted to ask about that arm, and most of it was salvageable anyway. So I shut the trunk and nodded for him to follow me back into the car. He was quiet as we got seated.

"What's going on with your arm?" I asked. He stretched it out and moved his fingers a few more times.

"It hasn't been working the same," he explained.

"Why didn't you tell me you were having problems with it?"

"It wasn't so bad at first. But I don't know how to maintain it. Sometimes I lose my grip, or the plates lock up. I can't hold onto things. So I didn't say anything because I haven't been using it as much."

"It seemed to be working just fine last night and that time in the kitchen," I reminded him. I didn't want to be rude, but the fingers were capable of leaving sizeable bruises. His eyes flashed at me and narrowed dangerously. But he managed to suppress whatever he was feeling and shook his head.

"If it were working properly, I would have snapped your bones," he said slowly.

"I thought you were just being nice."

"It wasn't made to be nice. I don't know how to be nice." I nodded and pressed my finger to the keypad to start the engine.

"I know someone who can take a look at it. I can call him if you'd like."

"Who?"

"Stark."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" I reached around him to pull the car back onto the road. The console screen would show me an image from the back of the car when I reversed, but I couldn't get the hang of using it.

"Because I killed his parents." I slammed the brakes hard enough to make the car jerk violently. I still had my hand over the back of his seat to see out of the back window. Now I turned to focus on him.

"You—killed Howard and Maria Stark?" He looked over at me, and the expression on his face was visibly guilty and sad all at once.

"I'm not just remembering Bucky's life, Jo." I pulled back out onto the road.

"Well—that's something we're just going to have to keep from Tony then. We'll figure it out without his help."

"Probably a good idea."