The Kind You Save

Chapter 7

The emptiness of my apartment is palpable in the absence of his quietly commanding presence. Something about him makes me want to help. He seemed so lost and hopeless telling me of those misplaced memories. Unwilling to delve deeper into my reasoning behind helping him, I immediately dive into finding his mother's name. I don't even bother changing out of my work clothes. Grabbing my laptop off the couch, I come back to sit at the kitchen table, opening my browser to begin my search.

It isn't long before I come upon an obituary for Winnifred C. Barnes, known for her award-winning peanut butter cookies, who died in 1955. She was survived by 3 daughters and preceding her in death, a son. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. My heart wants to crack at the thought of a mother believing her son was killed in battle only for him to still be alive but she'd never know it. But, to see what's become of him now would likely hurt her even more. Somber as it may be, I'm glad to have some information to give him.

Before I close my laptop, I notice the recipe for her peanut butter cookies is included in the obituary as a tribute so I decide to make some of my own. I'm hopeful that maybe something will jog his memory, whether it's the sight of the cookies, their smell, or their taste. Getting up from my table, I notice the sky beginning to darken through my kitchen window. I guess the research took longer than I thought. Before getting started on the cookies I dig out an old apron, not wanting to dirty my office clothes.

The cookies are relatively quick and easy to make, I can see why a mother of 4 would have this recipe on hand. After placing spoonfuls of the dough onto a baking sheet, I press them with a fork to make the distinctive criss-cross pattern that peanut butter cookies are known for. Once the baking tray is in the oven, I clean up the mess on my counters, washing the few dishes that were dirtied in the process. The cookies are done as soon as I finish the last dish. Their sweet scent fills my kitchen as I pull them out of the oven and make to put them on a rack to cool.

"Peanut butter cookies?" The soft voice in my ear causes me to drop the tray a little too hard on the counter, a hand flying to my heart. The Winter Soldier is standing directly behind me, so close that I can't turn to face him without brushing against his chest. He takes in my reaction and steps back. "Did I scare you?" he asks. The slightest bit of concern twists his usually flat expression.

"You just startled me, that's all." I wave off his concern with a soft smile on my lips. I don't want to make him feel guilty at all. Although, the thought of him getting that close without so much as an inkling on my part does scare me, more than a little. "I'm glad you came back. I have some information for you, along with the cookies." I gesture to the still-warm treats.

Although distant, the small smile he offers me is genuine as he grabs for a cookie behind me. I watch him as he samples a bite, closing his eyes as he breathes out a satisfied sigh.

"I don't remember the last time I tasted anything like this," he says without opening his eyes. His words make me wonder what they feed him at Hydra, or if they even do, for him to say that. He opens his eyes and looks at me, a tiny spark of life lit there. "My sisters and I loved these cookies. We used to fight over who got the last one."

Unable to hide my delight at his revelation, I beam up at him. "Yes! Your mother, Winnifred, apparently made these quite frequently for you and your three sisters." He takes a step closer to me, closing the small bit of distance he'd created when he backed away. His eyes are alight with an emotion somewhat like gratitude, somewhat like wonder.

"You have to be the most beautiful thing I've seen in decades," he says," I can't remember the last time someone was this kind to me."

Looking at him now, it's like I can see the dark fog that seems to have its grip on him clearing away to reveal the young soldier from all those years ago. I have to look away to check my own emotions, ones that I can't quite figure out. They're a jumble with him this close and looking at me like that. He brushes a strand of my hair with his non-metal hand, a feather-light touch, then steps back abruptly. 

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," he says, snapping back into the withdrawn assassin from moments before.

Feeling a blush creep into my cheeks, I look at him from under my lashes. "There's nothing to apologize for." I'm certain he can hear the thundering of my heart from across the room and not out of fear this time. He starts toward the back door, seemingly making his way to leave.

"Wait." I step toward him, gently catching his metal arm with my outstretched hand. I draw my hand back as he stiffens slightly. He's obviously uncomfortable with my touch, but he turns back to face me. "You've done nothing wrong, there's no reason to leave so soon," I assure him. "You're welcome to stay. I want to help you as much as I can."

What am I doing inviting an assassin to stay for a visit? Part of me is surprised by how much I hope he stays but part of me also didn't miss how his nearness had kickstarted my heartbeat. 

He gives me a quick sideways smile before turning serious again. "Thank you, but the less I'm here, the better. It wouldn't be hard for them to find out that you've been helping me and I don't want to be the cause of anything happening to you."

I nod silently, conveying my understanding. His arm moves as if he's going to touch me again but he stops, turning to leave instead. I watch him make his way out of the back door and disappear into the growing darkness, leaving me with thoughts and feelings of my own to sort out.