Valorous (Book Three)

Chapter: 7

DAY: 107

Lark

Night fell. The mall darkened and lanterns were lit to light the hallways in a dim yellow glow. Bucky and I confined ourselves in the back of the mall, Steve and the others thought that I was somewhere in the lower levels of the mall thinking all by myself, in a dark hallway no one dares to use,  staying together and holding each other. Bucky and I laid in each others arm, I played with his metal fingers. Bucky's fingers moved over my back, traced over the scars, just barley touching the one around the metal arm. I knew that he was thinking about how much it probably hurt me. To be honest, it always did, but I never really paid it any attention. I really just ignored it because there are worse pains than a scar, and I was waiting for another reason to feel pain.

I felt his lips press against my shoulder once and then twice, against the scar. For one reason or another my stomach fluttered for an instant, heat rose up my neck into my cheeks and I smiled.

I watched him walk into the house cautiously like he always did after he left, he'd changed his clothes from the dark Winter Soldier suit to jeans, a jacket, a clean shirt and a baseball cap. I don't know why he kept on coming back here, there really wasn't anything for him here other than maybe safe refuge for a while. Sooner or later I was going to get caught with him.

He sat down in one of the chairs at the table and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands wiped over his face and then held his head. I could tell that he was thinking deep within himself just by the way he sat there and didn't move. I stepped out from the hallway into the kitchen and turned on the light, he lifted his head, his eyes were glassy and rimmed red, in all honesty he looked like he'd been run over by a truck.

"No one told me there was a museum." he said looking straight at me. I did a double take, looking over my shoulder, thinking that he wasn't talking to me. "Yes, you. Girl with the red hair and freckles." he said sitting back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. I rolled my eyes and jumped up on the counter, sitting there and looking at him.

"They made it two years ago, attached to the Smithsonian Air and Space muesum, when some aliens attacked New York. When it first opened the place was packed and you could barley move through the exhibit itself." I told him, he looked up at me as I spoke. "I'm guessing that's where you were?"

He nodded to me.

"Did you see your part of the exhibit?" I asked him. "Did you read all they had and watched the tapes?

"They really thought I died." he answered. "They got the whole story, about me and this guy, who they're calling my best friend, grew up in Brooklyn. I don't make heads or tails of any of it. I don't remember anything of it, maybe a few things but nothing. I couldn't recognize anyone."

"It's hard coming out of the fog, sometime you just don't know where you are." I said allowed. "But eventually you're find away to understand something you've missed or forgotten."

There was silence between us, but I saw him nod to what I told him. It was something my sister had told me once when I woke up in the hospital from an accident at school. Don't ask don't tell. Family had taught me enough to know that sometimes, finding out things for yourself can be hard and painful but in the end it's worth it.

I hopped off the counter and walked around the corner, picking up the first-aid kit that I had set there for when he came back.

"I need to check your wounds to make sure they're healing alright." I told him. Without saying a word he stood up from the chair, pulled of his jacket, hat and shirt and stood in front of me. I was almost surprised by the sight, but I knew some part of him was doing it on purpose.