CHAPTER III

Alvie was deep into the land of nod, sleeping far too soundly for someone sheltering a known terrorist in the room next door, when the jarring sound of a hoarse yell came through her bedroom door. Hot on its heels was the noise of something being smashed, and the glittering sound of glass shards skittering across floorboards. With a groan she lifted her face from the pillow and wondered what the hell was going on, and then remembered her new roommate. Had he been attacked? Had he brought someone home to attack? Had he brought someone home to have sex with on her couch?

Unlikely.

She rolled out of bed, grabbed the metal pole she had recently equipped her bedroom with and peered around the doorway. Unfortunately subtlety had never been her strong point, and Barnes, who was stood in the middle of her living area with a bleeding hand from the shattered vase, glared at her with such a ferocity that Alvie actually took a step back. It was like he was daring her to acknowledge it.

Unfortunately for him, Alvie never backed down from a dare. "I never liked that vase anyway," she said. He looked, with the utmost kindness, like complete shit – his face was slick with sweat and he was panting like he had run a marathon. Alvie, who recognized the symptoms of night terrors, dropped the metal pole and emerged from her room. "Are you… are you alright?"

"Fine," he muttered, sucking the cut on his hand dry.

"Right. You know I said you're safe here, yeah?" she asked, edging forward and raising her hands in lieu of a white flag. "You're under my protection, remember?"

"That doesn't mean shit."

"Christ, dude. You ever heard of being nice to the people who offer you charity?"

"Wasn't top of HYDRA's list of desired attributes for their prize dog," he snapped, "sorry if I don't trust batshit crazy people."

"I am not crazy!" she cried out, marching up to him and jabbing a finger into the center of his chest. "Listen up, smartass. I am the only god damn person in the whole entire world who is capable of fixing your arm. If you don't like me, the door's right freaking there! Enjoy being an invalid!"

He glowered at her, but didn't move an inch.

Alvie took a deep breath, forcing herself to be the bigger person (figuratively speaking, of course). "Show me your hand."

"What?"

"Show me your hand. I can stitch it up."

Any other body part and Alvie was certain he would have done it himself, but he needed one hand to mend the other and either way you looked at it, that wasn't happening anytime soon. Now looking away with his jaw clenched, he extended his bloodied right hand towards her.

"It'll only need a couple," she told him, "go sit at the bar, I'll get my first aid kit."

She cleaned him up in heated, awkward silence. He didn't wince as the needle pierced his skin, and she wasn't even using local anaesthetic.

"Nobody can track you here," she told him. "You're safe."

"I found you."

She snapped the silky thread between her teeth. "I was getting lazy," she said, "after you arrived I quadrupled my security measures. I'm in four different places right now, and none of them are here. Guess I should thank you for pushing me to do it."

He flexed his fingers, testing the pull of the stitches. "Sure?"

"I'd bet my life on it," she said. "Bucky… you don't have to be the Winter Soldier all the time. Trying to scare me won't work, so stop bothering with it. For both our sanities' sakes, relax a little, alright?"

Some of the burning rage had left his eyes, now. "Why're you helping me?" he asked. "You don't… you don't make sense. You're not threatened. I'm not bribing you. What d'you get out of this?"

"Uh... dunno. You got a cool arm, I suppose. That helps."

"Not good enough."

"Cherié," she said lightly, "I never have a good reason for doing anything. Please try not to pop your stitches, alright? I ain't doing it again." She shoved her first aid kit into the cupboard beneath the breakfast bar and hopped off of the stool. "Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of, ya know."

"Mine are," he said without looking at her. Alvie felt her heart twist a little bit. Here was this man, fierce and formidable, who woke up in terror and lashed out at the thing nearest to him.

What does it take, she wondered, to scare the Winter Soldier?

Well, the answer to that was pretty easy to find. Ghosts. She wiped the last of the blood away with an alcohol-soaked rag and stood up. "Try and stay away from breakable stuff in future, please."

"Kennings?"

She paused on her way back to the bedroom. "Barnes?" she replied, looking over her shoulder at him. He was stood up now too, looking, for the first time, as though his fight-or-flight instinct wasn't taking over his mind.

"Thanks."

Alvie smiled. "No problem," she said. "But you have to trust me, Bucky. Please. I can't help you if you don't let me in."

"I can't…" he began, and swallowed. "I don't trust people. I don't normally need their help, either."

"Then make me the exception that proves the rule. I mean, I am pretty exceptional," she said, and chuckled at her own joke. "Ya really think that I am a threat to you?"

He took her in – the lack of clothes, the soft skin of someone who had never had to fight, the relaxed and unconcerned body language. Normally when people look at me like that, Alvie thought, we both end up with our clothes off. I somehow don't think that's on the table right now.

"No," Bucky said at last. "You're probably the least threatening person I've ever seen."

Alvie spun around on her heel. "Was that a compliment?" she asked, quite impressed.

"No."

"Hey!" she punched his shoulder, and yelped. "You feel like you're made of steel, dude. Ouch."

"Don't punch me, then," he replied. Alvie caught his eye and realized that he was actually, really, joking. Sort of.

"Hilarious," she sighed, struggling to keep a grin off of her face. "Get some sleep. You're kind of an asshole when you're tired."

"I'm not tired."

"Then you're just an asshole," she laughed, stepping out of arm's reach. "And clean up my vase before morning, please."

"Go to bed, Kennings."

She waved over her shoulder as she slammed her bedroom door behind her, and paused to consider the last couple of minutes. It occurred to her that it had been one of the most enjoyable conversations that she had had in years.

I need to get out more, she thought, crawling back into bed. She fell asleep as dawn rose, and Bucky allowed her a few hours more than he had done yesterday before waking her up with the glare that indicated she had better start working. Slowly, ever so slowly, and against the expectations of both parties, it seemed that they were starting to get along.