Hell Bound

Fifteen

Sitting at the kitchen table was actually a terrible idea. Dinner was awkward. I really just wanted Bucky and Graham to be in the same room without looking like they wanted to kill each other. Well, okay, that was putting it nicely. I wanted Bucky not to look like he wanted to kill Graham. And I wanted Graham to look at anything other than me and the floor. Maybe they'd never learn to like each other, but if I could get them to tolerate each other, I'd call it a win.

After the first few minutes, I realized this was likely to never happen. Graham was staring at his plate, pretending we weren't there. Bucky was sitting against the wall so he could watch everything, as usual. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes were dark. He hardly touched his food at all, and I knew for a fact that he liked pizza.

"One time when I was a kid," Graham started, picking an olive off his slice, "my mom brought this guy home for dinner. It was the first time she'd dated anyone since my dad died. It was a lot like this. Very quiet. Very uncomfortable. Only the roles were different. Because she obviously wanted me to like him, but I never would. So now I think I know what he must have felt like. You know–except he probably wasn't worried he was going to be murdered if he said the wrong thing." Bucky glanced at Graham like this was the oddest thing he'd ever heard. Then his eyes were back on me.

"Um," I said. "So what happened? To the guy?" Graham shrugged.

"I guess he had a wife or something. Like they were getting divorced, but he didn't bother to tell my mom, and she felt really betrayed by it. I never saw him again."

"Well–uh–I'm sure you guys have more in common than you think. You're both military. That's something. Kind of." Graham looked up at me.

"It's completely different."

"How is it different?" Bucky asked.

"I'm pretty sure you weren't a Marine." Bucky shook his head. "See? Plus the whole–time period thing. The military was a lot different back then." Bucky froze and gave me another dark look. I shrugged.

"He would have figured it out eventually," I explained.

"You know who I am?" he asked, turning back to Graham.

"My dad was really into Captain America when I was a kid. I mean–I didn't know much about you, but it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure it out." He looked down at his plate. "Actually, I probably never would have figured it out." Bucky cut his eyes to me again.

"Why would you tell him?"

"He needed to understand the gravity of the situation," I explained. "If he thought you were just some random guy off the street, he wouldn't have cared about keeping you secret."

"I might have cared," Graham muttered.

"He didn't understand why we couldn't just take you to a hospital. And I didn't go into detail. I just casually let him know why it was important to stay quiet." Bucky scowled at me. I'd seen the scowl before, but rarely, if ever, directed toward me.

"You know you're an easy target," he said. "If I'd been sent here to kill you, I wouldn't have had to work for it. I could have made it look like an accident in less than five minutes. You would have been dead the moment you set foot in this house. Maybe even sooner than that." He also never pointed out that he was capable of killing me before.

"What?"

"They know everything about you. They were in your head, in case you've forgotten. They'll know exactly what to do to get to you again."

"So what exactly are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying he's too much of a coincidence. You just happen to find a kid who..."

"Twenty-three," Graham whispered. Bucky ignored him.

"...who needs a place to stay? They'd know what you'd do. They could have set you up. You brought him into your home. You're telling him things you shouldn't be telling anyone." I sighed and dropped my pizza back onto the plate. I was suddenly not very hungry anymore.

"I brought you into my home," I pointed out. "I told you things I shouldn't have told anyone. But you don't remember that, do you? I know I'm an easy target. But if they want me, they'll come and get me. There's no reason for them to set up some kid–sorry, twenty-three-year-old–to get into my house. I haven't told him anything they don't already know. And he couldn't have come here hoping to find you because I haven't seen you in months, and you willingly forgot me."

"Why aren't you doing anything? Why are you making it so easy for them?"

"What do you want me to do, Buck? You expect me to go back to Stark and hide behind my powerful friends?"

"Yes, actually."

"I tried that already, and I was fucking miserable."

"So you don't care? You're just going to let them win?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't care if they came in charging through the front door right now. Actually, I take that back. I would care. But only because the two of you are here, and I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me. But if you weren't, or if I could make sure you got out okay, I wouldn't even fight. I don't care if they come for me because I don't care about fucking anything. So I'm not going to take a back seat in my life just because they made some threats before months of silence." I pushed away from the table and left the kitchen before he could argue anymore.