Bucky discovers that sleep is actually for resting, not just for restoring his supersoldier-ness.
Bucky didn't feel comfortable enough yet to tell this neighbor of hi the whole story. Or even part of it. Part was that he didn't fully comprehend what had happened to him. How could he? The world had changed while he had been frozen, only woken up to take out a "threat" and then put back to sleep. And also, partly because he didn't trust her. That wasn't her fault. He didn't trust anyone.
However, she hadn't let him die, and she hadn't called the hospital, and she seemed willing to cut him some slack.
She was sitting in the orange chair across from him. It was one of those round ones, he couldn't be sure what decade it was from, but in his opinion, furniture sure had gotten uglier after the forties. It lacked class, as did most things nowadays. This girl didn't seem to lack class, though she definitely wasn't what he was used to.
She appeared relaxed, but he recognized the look. She was ready to bolt at any minute if he went nuts. Which he wasn't going to do, but she didn't know that.
HIs temperature was down to 100 now, and he'd taken a couple of pills called Tylenol. He was wrapped in a thin sheet. No matter what he said, she wouldn't give him a blanket.
"You'll overheat. You have a fever. You can't make yourself warmer, that's the worst thing you can do. Didn't anyone ever teach you that in Super Soldier training?" She asked him. He scowled at the lack of blanket and real clothing.
"They made sure I never got sick."
"Well, they also controlled your life, as far as I can tell." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Nut up, dude. You're going to have to suffer through it."
"Nut up?" He asked her. "Dude?"
She shook her head. "Nevermind. I can explain modern lingo later."
"No, what does it mean?"
"Nut up means, like… be a man about it." She stated. He nodded. He also smiled. Joy thought he had a nice smile. She bet he used to smile a lot before whatever happened to him.
"And dude is just a generic name for a person." She thought back to her limited knowledge of old movies. "Like Pal. Only you can use it if you're mad too. You can pretty much call a person Dude whenever you want."
He took this in. He probably wouldn't be calling anyone "Dude" anytime soon. "I'm in over my head." He stretched out on the sofa. He was getting sleepy, but the pounding in his head was subsiding.
"How's that?" She already knew but figured she'd ask, to keep the conversation going.
"I've been dead for seventy years. Nothing is the same." He looked at the ceiling. "You're the first person I've really had a conversation with since I left when the Helicarrier crashed."
"Lucky you." She frowned. "I'm not the most interesting person."
Bucky turned to look at her. "How so? You're so… unusual." He paused. "I mean that as a compliment."
She shrugged. "I go to work. I come home. I listen to music. I read. That's about it. Not a very exciting life."
"That sounds like an amazing life." Bucky closed his eyes. "What's music like now?"
"Oh, hon, I don't think you're ready for modern music yet. We need to ease you into this whole thing. You've been out of the game a long time." Joy was thinking of Bucky listening to Gangster Rap or Screamo music, and smirked. "But there's seven decades of music to work through. And I happen to have a pretty stellar record collection. If you don't die, and if you don't kill me because I know your secret."
"I won't kill you. There's no need. You'd be easy to trace if I had to." He was drifting off to sleep. "But I'd like to hear music. When I'm better."
She nodded. She wasn't sure whether to be freaked out that he had said he could track her and kill her if he needed to, or if he was joking. And now he was asleep. She figured he must be really sick, because people like him… men like him didn't let their guard down around strangers. Even if the stranger was a girl who'd probably saved his life, and rocked a fierce pair of wingtips.