He came into the diner every day. Usually late in the morning, after the crowd was gone. He sat at the counter, never looked at anybody, and drank his coffee black. At first glance, he looked homeless. Long hair, scruffy face, layers of clothes. And he always wore gloves, no matter the temperature. His attempt to be invisible made him stick out even more. When you worked with the public, a lot of odd things looked normal and it was hard to draw the line anymore.

One morning, he caught me looking at him. We quickly looked away, but when I looked up, he was watching me. He raised his cup a bit and I grabbed the pot to give him a refill. I poured the coffee and watched as he stirred it for a second. His eyes, normally sort of fixed and faraway seemed softer today. They were dark, troubled. He had a story and I was determined to hear it. "What's your name?" I asked. I had no use for playing games. I learned long ago that you got further asking for what you wanted straightaway.

He looked up, startled and confused. Maybe he didn't speak English, though he didn't "look foreign." Whatever that meant anymore. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and barely audible. "Bucky."

"Harper," I said and tapped my name tag. He nodded. He probably didn't want to talk, but he didn't look away. "You live nearby? You're in here every day, so you must be close." He nodded again, but didn't say anything. I leaned on my elbows on the counter, a move usually reserved for older, flirty men who left big tips. I was genuinely interested in getting this guy talking, though. Not that I expected him to answer my questions. Or even listen if I started rambling, which I had a tendency to do. "What's your story? You look like you've got an interesting story."

He gave me a blank look then cocked his lip up on one side in a smirk. He shook his head. "Nope."

I thought I might scare him away, but he continued to come back every day. I bombarded him with inane small talk. Weather, sports that I really knew nothing about, some current event in the news. He listened. He didn't say much. Every once in a while, I'd get a smile out of him. I noticed the day he came in clean shaven, a first as far as I could remember. He still wore a hat, pulled down, which made me believe he was hiding something. Or from someone. I started to wonder if he was some kind of undercover agent, sent in to spy on someone else in the diner. The woman who drank soda and typed on her computer all morning. Or the man who sipped tea and read a book. The mom group that came in on Thursdays for lunch, maybe. Based on the amount of coffee he drank, maybe he spent his nights fighting crime.

After a couple weeks, I'd gotten used to Bucky being there every day. Nobody else paid any attention to him. He probably would have rather seen me leave him alone too. The way I figured it, he wouldn't keep coming back if he didn't want me to bother him.

One Friday, I was feeling lonely and more than a little disappointed that I wouldn't be coming in to work for a little one-sided conversation for two days. I knew I could easily pick up a Saturday shift, if I wanted. But would it worthwhile? What was I even doing? He was attractive in a possible prison escapee kind of way. There was something about him, I couldn't put my finger on it. I didn't waste any time when he sat down. "Morning Bucky."

"Morning," he answered. I wanted to believe there was something different in his tone, but his voice was so quiet it was hard to get any read on him.

"Got big plans for the weekend?" He shook his head. I asked a lot of yes or no questions because I knew he preferred to nod or shake his head. He'd gotten better at answering my questions, though, with maybe two or three words at most. "Me either. I usually spend my weekends doing laundry and catching up on tv." My life sounded even more pathetic than usual. It had to be obvious to him from my ramblings. I didn't go out a lot. When I wasn't at work, I was at home.

"Sounds fun," he mumbled.

I leaned on the counter. He didn't move away like he had every other day, like he was scared of me. Instead, he looked at me. I saw his eyes flick down quickly and then back up to my eyes. I'd left an extra button undone. I wasn't going to lie. I was desperate. I took a chance and reached out to touch his arm, covered in a jacket, even on the warm day. He pulled away but not before I made contact. I smiled. He looked confused. I could tell what he was hiding now. The long sleeves and gloves. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. In just a second of barely making contact, I could tell his arm was not real. When you dealt with it yourself, you got used to recognizing it and I couldn't believe I'd missed it this time. "Maybe we could hang out?"

Bucky's brow furrowed and his face darkened. It was not a good sign. I knew not to get my hopes up. Something about him was off. I should've expected nothing less than a clipped rejection and a disappearance. He seemed frozen for a second, though. Finally he stumbled through a response. "It's probably...I don't think...I don't..."

"It's okay," I said, like it was no big deal even though it kinda was.

"No, I mean..." he stopped and took a deep breath. "I can't."

He threw down some money and bolted out the door. I knew I would scare him off. I should've kept quiet because now I might never see him again. If that was the case, there was one more thing I needed to say. I ran out the door as fast as I could, which wasn't very fast and caught up to him on the empty sidewalk, despite his pace being insanely faster than mine. "Bucky?"

I didn't think he was going to stop but he did. I took a breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I didn't want to scare you off. But in case I did, I just wanted you to know..." I pulled up my pant leg to reveal my secret, my missing leg from the knee down, replaced by a piece of metal.

He studied it for a second, looked me in the eye, then looked back at my leg. "I was in a car accident. They didn't even think I was going to live. No one else did."

That's when his face changed. His expression went from fear and possibly anger, to understanding and acceptance. "It's not the same thing."

"Does it matter? You've got a fake arm. I've got a fake leg. If nothing else, we could get together and make sparks." I covered my face with my hand. What a stupid thing to say. But he gave me that crooked smile he used when he was amused, even though he didn't like to show it.

"Meet me here tonight at eight," he said. Then he walked away. I stared after him, joy and confusion rolling around inside of me. Maybe he was a nighttime crime fighter. He was different, there was no denying that. But so was I. At least that's how I'd felt since the accident. No one knew how to treat me, how to act around me. Even if I hadn't already felt it, the people around me made it known. So I withdrew. I left people behind. My own family didn't know what to do with me anymore. That's how I ended up in a small town in the middle of nowhere. People here didn't care about my limp. They didn't ask questions. They accepted me as I was and went about their business. Maybe that's how Bucky ended up there too.

I arrived at the exact spot on the sidewalk at 7:55. By 8:05, I was feeling discouraged yet hopeful. He would still come. I knew he would. Around 8:15, I turned to head home and there he was heading toward me. A lumbering figure on the otherwise empty sidewalk. He was tall, though he slumped when he walked, and his arm was more obvious now without the bulk of his normal heavy jacket. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he had an overall look of uncomfortable. My intention had not been to take him so far out of his comfort zone. I thought maybe he needed someone to talk to, and since we had something in common, it made sense to me. Maybe he didn't see it that way. Maybe I was an annoyance. Maybe he wanted to get me alone on the dark street to "take care of me."

My stomach fluttered in nervous anticipation. We stood in silence for a moment and then I said, "I didn't think you'd show."

"Here I am," he replied with his usual enthusiasm.

"The way I see it," I started, "you are either genuinely interested in my company...or you're going to murder me and bury my body in a field. Don't jerk me around, okay?"

Bucky took a step toward me and reached out his hands. I stepped back until I hit the wall. I sucked in what might have been my last breath. Then Bucky smiled his half smile and shook his head. "You really thought..."

"I hoped not, but no more than you talk..." I relaxed and stepped away from the wall. "I'm pretty good at reading people and I can't get a good read on you. I think you like that, though. You want to keep people out. So what is it you're hiding?"

He looked at me but didn't answer my question. I could see in his eyes the answer wasn't a good one. I didn't need him to tell me if he didn't want to. I wanted him to know I was there if he wanted to talk. "I honestly didn't expect you to answer that one anyway." I smiled and he shook his head. "Bucky's a nickname, right? What's your real name?"

"James."

I motioned for him to follow me as I started walking. "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" His voice had a comical tone to it that I hadn't heard before.

"Because it's the only way to find out about people. It doesn't make sense to dance around things. Just ask the question and be done with it."

We walked in silence until I couldn't stand it anymore. I struggled to keep pace with him. I didn't feel like he was walking fast on purpose. He probably didn't give a thought to the fact that I couldn't keep up. He probably thought he could lose me, but I managed to get ahead of him. I turned around and walked backwards. "So, where did you..." I ran into a very large someone that had suddenly appeared on the sidewalk out of nowhere. "Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry."

The man grabbed me before I could turn around. He pulled my arms behind my back with one hand and his other arm wound tight around my neck. His grip tightened but I managed to speak. "Hey, listen. We don't have any money. Do we look like we have anything? We're just..."

Bucky moved quicker than I'd ever seen anyone move before. I didn't even know what was happening until it was over and it only seemed to take a few seconds. He grabbed the man, who immediately let go of me. Bucky shoved me to the side, drew back and punched the man. It was an impressive feat in itself, but the man flew down an alley and slammed into a building, sending debris flying everywhere. My eyes were wide as I looked at Bucky. "What the hell was that?"

He mistook my amazement for horror. I could tell by his face. He turned to go. I grabbed his arm, his left arm, and then gently took his metal hand. "Come on. My apartment is this way."

We headed back the way we came. I lived in a small apartment above the diner. It never didn't smell like coffee and greasy food. The stairs were a bit of struggle, but I'd gotten used to them. I unlocked the door, locked it behind us, and led Bucky to the narrow stairwell. He grabbed me and sprinted up the steps, two at a time. At the top, he set me down and I stared at him in amazement for a second. He pointed to the door and looked back like he expected someone to come crashing through the door at any second. I unlocked the second door and we walked into the dark room. I realized I still held his hand. When I realized which hand I was holding, I didn't drop it. I squeezed it and he squeezed back, gently. It hit me then what had happened, not what Bucky had done, but the fact that I'd been grabbed by a man on the street. I did what any normal woman would do and I collapsed against his chest and sobbed. After a second, he put his hand on my back. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes. I just...I mean...things like that don't happen here, you know? This is a tiny, safe place. At least I thought it was. I don't normally go out walking at night, which I guess is a good thing." I stepped back and looked at him in the darkness. "Thank you...for saving me, I guess?"

What he did next surprised me more than anything else he'd done so far. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back to him. It said more than any words could. I'd never felt safer, but so many questions swirled through my mind. Instead of blurting them all out at once, I led Bucky to the couch and we sat. I turned on a small lamp and studied his face. He looked troubled. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"I shouldn't have done that. Somebody is going to know...they're going to find me." He hung his head.

"Who is?"

He looked at me, but didn't say anything. I wanted so badly to kiss him and tell him everything would be okay, but I didn't know that it would. I didn't like to say things that weren't true. Carefully, I reached out and unzipped his jacket. He let me do it, and he pulled out his right arm. Then I pulled the jacket off his left shoulder, revealing the metal of his left arm. I discarded the jacket on the floor and turned back to him. He pulled off the gloves and dropped them, but he didn't look at me. I studied his arm, the red star and shiny metal with battle scars I didn't want to ask about. He had to be some kind of government experiment, a military operation, maybe. It was fascinating. I was pretty sure that wasn't the reaction he was used to. Even his hand was metal. I couldn't tell the difference when I held it earlier.

"What happened to you?" I whispered.

"It doesn't matter," he answered.

I ran my hand down his arm. The metal was cool and rough. I felt him tense up, so I put my hand on his chest. "You're right. It doesn't matter. You're still you. As long as your heart is beating. It is your heart, right? You aren't made entirely of spare parts, are you?"

A hint of a smile played on his lips. "As far as I know, just the arm."

I turned the tv on and turned down the volume. We watched reruns of an old sitcom until I fell asleep. I woke up when I heard Bucky's voice. I was in my bed, so he must have moved me. I got up slowly and headed to the living room. He was stretched out on the couch, thrashing and mumbling in a language I didn't recognize. He woke up in a panic, wildly looking around, until he saw me watching him. I sat down on the floor beside him and stroked his cheek. "It's okay," I whispered. "I'm here. I get nightmares too."

He sat up, his breathing heavy and ragged. I struggled to stand up and he offered me a hand. He pulled me up and I walked to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. When I came back and handed it to him, I said, "You don't sleep. That's why you drink so much coffee."

"Maybe."

"I have nightmares about the accident. When I woke up, I couldn't remember anything. I was in a coma for almost three months, but they kept me under so my body could heal. I didn't know what had happened. I could still feel my leg." I stopped. "The worst ones, though, are when I'm running or climbing or something like that and I can feel my leg. But I wake up and it's just...not there."

Bucky was silent and stared at his hands. Then he said, "It's not the same. The things I've seen...and done..."

"I don't care about any of that," I said.

"You should." He stood up and walked to the window.

"Why are you here now? Why did you show up to meet me tonight?"

"People don't talk to me. You did. You saw past...me." He sighed. " I can't do normal things. I can't be normal."

"What's normal?" I scoffed as I walked up behind him. "I am a one legged waitress. Don't talk to me about not being normal."

His shoulders slumped as he sighed again. Then he turned around. "You are relentless, you know that? You have an argument for everything. Are you sure you aren't a one legged lawyer?"

"Ohmygawd! Did you just make a joke?" I fanned myself. "I think I need to sit down. Who would've thought a man with a metal, super strength arm could have a sense of humor?"

"That's very funny." He grinned and then grabbed me around the waist. In his split second of hesitation, I put my hand on his face and kissed him.

I rolled over, completely expecting Bucky to be gone. But there he was beside me in my bed, one arm flung across his beautiful naked chest and the other above his head. His eyes were open and he was staring out the window. I wiggled closer and laid my head on his chest. He put his arm around me. I rolled over on my stomach and looked at him. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he said with a smile. He leaned in and kissed me.

"You want coffee?"

"Sure," he answered. I slid to the edge of the bed and began the process of assembling myself in order to stand up. "I could've gotten it."

"It's okay. I don't actually have a coffee maker, so I was going to run to the diner. I don't want this view to change while I'm gone." I ran my hand across his chest.

Bucky took my hand and kissed it. "Hurry back."

I threw on some clothes, pulled up my hair and headed downstairs. I took a deep breath before I walked in, knowing I would be questioned. Verna, my boss, was on her stool by the counter. She eyed me and then stood up and motioned for me to join her. I followed her into her office and she shut the door. "Did you see those two fellas in the corner?"

"No."

"They were asking about that quiet one you're always talking to," she said.

"Who are they? What did you tell them?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"They didn't tell me who they are, so probably nobody important. I didn't tell them anything, just that he's been in here a couple times."

"Thank you," I said.

"Listen to me, Harper. You be careful. You don't know anything about him. Don't get yourself into any trouble."

I played it off like it was nothing. I talked to him at work. That didn't mean I knew him outside of work, despite the fact that I now knew him very well. I wasn't going to tell her that. I thanked her for caring and giving me the heads up. Then I went out front for Bucky's coffee. I made sure not to look toward the corner, but I saw their reflection on the machine. They got up and headed my way. "Excuse me, miss?"

"Yes?" I squeaked as I turned around and tried not to spill the coffee.

"We're looking for someone. We heard he might be here." The one who did all the talking was tall and muscular with perfect hair and teeth. He was the poster boy of perfection. His African-American friend was just as good looking, though he hid behind sunglasses.

"Oh, okay. Who are you looking for? There's a lot of people in and out of here." I tried to be cool. Maybe it wasn't Bucky they wanted.

"His name is James Barnes. He goes by Bucky. He could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" The word punched me in the gut. I tried to laugh it off. "I don't think I've seen anyone like that in here. It's pretty quiet."

"Okay. Thank you for your time." His manners and politeness were borderline annoying. They returned to their seats and I grabbed my coffee. Verna gave me a look as I left, but I just smiled and waved.

My hands were shaking and I fumbled with my keys as I tried to get into the apartment. Bucky was not dangerous. I didn't care what they said. "Hey," I called softly as I opened the door. "I'm back."

He appeared in the doorway, in nothing but his boxer shorts. "Dear god," I muttered. He smiled and walked toward me. He took the coffe and kissed my cheek.

"So...um..." How did I even begin to explain it? Based on what I knew, I was pretty sure how he was going to react. He'd freak out, panic and take off. I'd never see him again. I wasn't ready for that. But I knew I had to tell him. "There's a couple guys downstairs looking for you."

A dark cloud passed over his face. "What?"

"Verna warned me when I got there. She said she didn't tell them anything. I sure as hell didn't tell them anything." He immediately started to pace the floor. "They said you might be dangerous. I never pushed you before. I'm not pushing now, but..."

"Do you think I'm dangerous?" He asked.

Without hesitation, I said, "To me, no. To others, maybe. To yourself, probably."

He shook his head. "They can't find me here."

"They won't. Stay here, lay low. They'll give up and go back where they came from." I paused. "Where did they come from?"

He looked at me. "It doesn't matter." He stopped pacing and came toward me. "I'm not exactly sure what they want, but they probably want to take me somewhere I don't want to go."

"Then stay here." I tried not to sound desperate, like I was pleading. I barely knew him, but it didn't matter. I walked to the door and locked it, as if it had the power to lock out the world. Then I took Bucky's hand. "Come on."

I led him back to the bedroom and we crawled into bed. I turned on the tv and we watched old western movies. Nobody called. Nobody bothered us. We alternated between sleeping and making love all day. I'd never spent a day like that with anyone ever and I never wanted it to end. Darkness fell and we shared a package of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk. I watched Bucky and wiped away a dribble of milk on his chin. He smiled such an innocent smile, I felt like the morning never happened. He wasn't dangerous. No one was looking for him. He wasn't going to leave.

When I woke up around 2 am, I was alone in the bed. I got up as quickly as I could. Bucky was sitting on the couch, fully dressed and ready to go. I crawled into his lap. He rubbed my leg and it tingled the way it used to when I felt my leg after it was gone. "Please don't go," I whispered.

"I have to."

"One more day," I pleaded.

He brushed my hair back out of my face. "One more day."

Six months later...

There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of Bucky. Now I had the reminder every time I looked in the mirror. I could still hide my tiny belly, but it was getting bigger every day. Verna was the only one who knew the truth. People stared sometimes, but nobody dared ask.

Bucky left in the night, as I figured he would. He left behind a note, promising he'd be back. As each day passed, I lost a little hope. But I refused to believe I'd never see him again. Sometimes I liked to think he was around, staying hidden and watching me. More than anything, I wanted him to know about the baby. He deserved to know.

One morning, the diner was busier than usual. I was tired. My foot hurt after only a couple hours of work. My jeans didn't fit anymore and I'd cried about it before I left the apartment. I needed to sit down, but I couldn't.

I served breakfast to a couple in a booth and turned around quickly to find someone behind me. It was Mr. Perfect, the one that had been looking for Bucky before he disappeared. He was smiling. I wanted to punch him in his pretty face, but there were too many witnesses. "Can I help you?" I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I remembered him.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked.

"I'm working," I moved past him toward the counter.

He grabbed my arm. "It's about Bucky."

Nobody else knew his name. Nobody else had ever said it out loud. Hearing it brought tears to my eyes. I leaned against the counter to steady myself. He took my arm and helped me sit down. "Are you okay?" He asked. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm fine." I took a deep breath. "What about Bucky?" It hurt my heart even more to say it.

Mr. Perfect stepped aside and there was Bucky. He looked like my Bucky, but he didn't. His hair was shorter and he had shaved. The darkness that surrounded him was gone, or at least not as obvious as it used to be. And the metal arm was gone. Whatever was in its place was in a sling. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't move and my eyes were blurry with tears. He took a step forward and I ran to him. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. The diner erupted with applause.

"I told you I'd be back," he whispered. I held him tight, afraid I would wake up from the dream. His arm slid away from me and his hand found its way to my belly. "Is that what I think it is?"

I nodded and tears fell down my cheeks. I couldn't remember how to speak. Any attempt probably would've resulted in more tears anyway. He hugged me again. Everything was a blur. The next thing I know, Bucky led me outside and up the stairs to my apartment. In the quiet, I could only stare at him. We stood together in the center of the room. I touched his face and whispered, "Are you real?"

"Very real," he answered.

"Where have you been?" Fresh tears fell. "I'm sorry. It's hormones. I can't even control it anymore."

He laughed and said, "It's okay. Cry all you need. I'll still be here when you're done."

I rested my head against his chest. "What happened to your arm?"

"Always with the questions." He put a finger under my chin and tilted my head up. "I'll answer everything, I promise."

"You better," I said as I sniffed.

"I have some questions about this." He put his hand on my belly again.

"Should I have explained it before we did it?" I wiped my face. "You're really here?"

"Yes."

"For good?"

"As long as you'll have me."