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By the time he reached the last step, Bucky had stuffed his anger somewhere in the back of his brain, but he still felt raw and jagged, like a cracked pane of glass ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Settle down, Barnes. It was just a stupid joke.
His nerves didn't listen.
Maybe letting Kowalski tag along wasn't a good idea. What if he really lost his temper? What if his fragile hold on himself broke…
What if the Soldier took over.
He stopped by the door and stared down at the cracked linoleum between his feet. His heart pounded, but not from fear of the dangers outside.
He feared the threat within.
Kowalski finally caught up with him. Bucky gave him a brief glance, then returned his gaze to the floor between his boots. "Um… I don't know if you should come with me."
"Aw, come on, buddy. Don't be mad. I promise I won't call you anything but James."
"Not mad. Isn't that."
Kowalski fell silent.
Bucky still couldn't bring himself to look up, but he could feel the confused tension radiating from his new... friend? He seemed like a friend, or maybe someone who might become a friend. Whatever he was, Kowalski definitely was a man who didn't deserve to be hurt by the violence inside Bucky's head. How to do this. "I… it's just… my stupid brain. I don't know when I might…" He made a helpless gesture.
"Lose your temper?"
Bucky nodded.
"I got a tough skin. And I'm a big guy. You won't hurt me."
You don't know how wrong you are, pal. Bucky chewed his lower lip, his resolve wavering. He didn't want to hurt Kowalski's feelings, but there was no way he could explain why he didn't want him along.
"Hey, I've never told you, but it's just that I'm a former brainwashed assassin who worked for the same bunch Captain America took down nine or ten months ago, and I think the code words to trigger me are still rattling around my brain. I give you 50/50 odds on whether I'll murder you or not."
Yeah. This was a bad idea. Very bad.
He took a deep breath. Was he… was Bucky… strong enough to keep the Soldier locked up?
He didn't know.
He'd already lost it with Kowalski once in his apartment and then a second time in the stairwell, but at least the second time he'd done better at controlling the monster within. Maybe that was enough to build on. He let all the air in his lungs out in a loud whoosh. "Okay."
Kowalski gave him a wide smile. Bucky was too conflicted to return it, so he just nodded as he opened the door. A cold wind swirled in, driving unruly strands of hair that had escaped the hair tie into his eyes. Aside from the annoyance, it reminded him he was, after all, about to go out into the world where watchful eyes might spot him. "Hang on. Gotta get my hat."
He turned on his heel and hurried to his room. He found his hat, and almost as an afterthought, he grabbed a plastic bag and shoved it in his pocket. The shadow under the cot caught his eye. His weapons were safely hidden there. Should he take a pistol?
Maybe he should.
He knelt down and grabbed the handle. It made a gritty scraping sound as he dragged it across the cement floor. He released the two latches and lifted the lid. Looked at the lethal, cloth-wrapped shapes inside. He picked up the topmost bundle and unrolled it. His COP 357 derringer. He could hardly walk around with it holstered on his thigh like he did in his Winter Soldier days, but it would fit in a pocket. He lifted it, sighted down the short barrel. The stainless steel gleamed dully in the poor light.
He stared calmly at the security camera that had recorded the kills. He raised the pistol and pulled the trigger. The camera exploded into shards of glass, metal and plastic...
Bucky's stomach roiled.
No.
No gun.
He would have to depend on disguise and, should the worst happen, speed and an ability to find a hole to hide in. He flipped the cloth back over the gun and put it back. He spotted a knife, a small black-bladed Fury that he'd found in a HYDRA weapons cache in a rural Pennsylvania barn. He yanked up his pant leg and slipped it in the holster he'd added to his boot. He shut the lid on his locker and shoved the thing back out of sight.
A few moments later he was back in the lobby, adjusting a navy blue baseball cap over his hair. He pulled it as low as it would go. As disguises went, it was pretty lame, but then again, he was relying on fitting in and being a nobody. People didn't look twice at scruffy bums wearing baseball caps low over their eyes. It made them too nervous.
Kowalski threaded his hands together and cracked his knuckles. "All right! Let's do this thing!"
Bucky frowned.
Kowalski's cheeks reddened. He gave him a half-hearted grin. "Always wanted to say that. You know, be all badass like on TV."
Bucky didn't know what to say to that—they were just going to the damn grocery store, not battling an alien invasion—so he simply opened the door and looked up and down the street. Snow still remained in dirty grey mounds between the street and sidewalk. There was a thick layer of slush in the street itself. A bright red Laclede taxi passed by, its tires crunching on the ice and sloshing through the puddles. Its left front tire hit a pothole. Bucky heard the cabbie curse even through the closed windows, but the car kept going until it turned right at Spring Avenue and disappeared.
Other than the passing car, Tholozon Avenue was empty. No people on the mostly-cleared walks. No one looking from any windows. Doorways empty. Rooftops clear.
Keeping a casual stance, he descended the steps to the sidewalk and started east. Though the sidewalks had been shoveled and salted, he still had to take care not to slip on lingering icy patches. He was glad his boots had rubber soles with good traction.
Kowalski fell in beside him on his left, between Bucky and the street. Bucky wasn't sure whether he should feel sheltered or hemmed in. The enemy could come at him as easily from a car as a building. He scanned the street. Still no cars, but that could change in a heartbeat. He imagined a fleet of large black SUVs roaring down on them, imagined Kowalski caught between HYDRA and their prey. He ducked around Kowalski to get between him and the street.
Better.
"You okay?" Kowalski asked.
"Claustrophobia."
Kowalski merely nodded, his expression thoughtful. After they'd walked a block, he said, "James, are you…"
Bucky slowed. Stopped. Felt his chest tighten. This is it. Kowalski's figured out who I am. I need to leave. I need to leave now… He started to turn back…
"… interested in dating anyone?"
What the hell. He blinked. "You mean—"
"No, for crying out loud I already told you before, not me, all right? I got a sister, though. She's cute, funny. About your age. You're what, twenty-seven, twenty-eight?"
Bucky couldn't decide what to say first, to correct him about his age (try 97, pal, and no, I can't explain it) or give him a firm negative, buddy, ain't gonna happen on dating his sister. Holy hell, what a bad idea. Setting aside the whole issue of trying to explain his life to anyone, let alone a dame, he could barely talk in full sentences to anyone, even Kowalski. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. No. Dating is a no. A very strong no. "Uh…"
"I mean, feel free to say no. I ain't told her about you."
"No, then."
"No chance at all?"
He shook his head so hard he felt his baseball cap loosen. He tugged it back in place.
"Okay."
They walked on. It took almost an entire block for Bucky's heart rate to return to normal.
As they walked, Bucky checked every doorway, each window. No movement except for a calico cat in one house who blinked sleepily at them as they passed. Houses gave way to a mechanic's garage and crumbling parking lots hemmed in with weathered board fencing. Those gave way to a more well-maintained parking lot. Beyond it, to the north, rose a towering building that might be apartments or maybe businesses. It was one of those buildings that in Manhattan would have been full of bankers and lawyers and accountants, but these days in this city, he couldn't be sure. Hell, maybe it was full of dentists.
Maybe it was full of HYDRA…
He swallowed hard. Ducked his head so the hat brim hid his face a little better.
They drew even with a few houses on the right that meant Grand Avenue was only about a half block away. Aldi's was on that street, but Bucky ducked into the alley behind the businesses on its west side.
Kowalski stopped in his tracks. "Um, James, why you takin' the alley? The sidewalks will be cleared off on Grand."
Walking would be easier, but Grand would be busy with traffic and businesses and people who might recognize him. He didn't bother explaining all that but simply put his head down and kept slogging through the dingy snow. "Sorry," he said over his shoulder. "Don't like busy streets."
Kowalski muttered something Bucky couldn't make out. Might have been a curse in Polish. He said a little louder, "Yeah, well, I don't like freezing my feet off, but I guess it's your parade."
Bucky gave him a grateful nod.
"So," Kowalski huffed as he hurried to catch up. "No dating. No busy streets. No calling you names other than James. You got anything else on your Don't List that I should know about?"
Bucky smiled a little. "Don't like Brussels sprouts."
"Who does?"
"My friend."
"The one who reads The Hobbit?"
Bucky nodded.
"Figures."
Bucky smiled again.
They fell silent as they navigated through the snow and muck until they crossed Winnebago Street and finally reached the back corner of Aldi's parking lot. Bucky peered over the low concrete wall that separated the lot from the sidewalk. Nothing suspicious. The lot had been cleared and miniature mountains of snow punctuated the end of each lane. There were perhaps six cars in the lot. Bucky couldn't remember what day it was, but apparently it wasn't a big shopping day. Good. He wouldn't have to deal with a lot of people watching him while he stalked the aisles to find what he needed.
They walked to the end of the wall and crossed the lot. As they approached the shopping carts parked by the doors, Bucky pulled off his right glove so he could get his quarter out. As he fished in his pocket, he glanced up at the sign. "There's no S."
"Huh?"
"It's Aldi. Not Aldi's."
"Yeah, so?"
So if I'm saying the damn name wrong, I'll be noticed. "Why do people say 'Aldi's'?"
Kowalski shrugged. "Got me. That's what my mom always called it, so that's what I call it."
Good a reason as any and assured him that saying it that way wouldn't draw any attention. Bucky stepped up to the carts and put his quarter in the slot of the first one. He unhooked the chain, just like a shopping pro. He pulled the cart free and pushed it back and forth to make sure it didn't have a bad wheel. Last time, his cart had a bad wheel that screeched and pulled constantly to the right. This one seemed acceptable.
Kowalski trailed behind as he entered the store. He pulled out his list to double check what he needed. Pantry goods were the first thing he passed. After some careful hunting, he found a small bag of flour and a can of baking powder. He went to the back of the store for the eggs, butter and buttermilk, then slowed as he tried to figure out where to find syrup.
"Whatcha need?" Kowalski asked.
"Maple syrup."
"Follow me." He led him to another aisle where he picked up a bottle that looked like a log cabin. "How about this?"
Bucky took it and out of curiosity read the label. Artificial flavoring. Contains no maple syrup. "What the hell? It's fake."
"Oh, you're one of them purists." He took it back and swapped it out with another, much smaller bottle.
Bucky looked at the size and then at the price on the shelf. "What the hell?" he said again.
Kowalski shrugged. "Real stuff's expensive, even here."
Bucky mentally tallied up everything in his cart and decided he had enough for the real thing. He didn't like the sound of fake syrup. Too much stuff these days was fake. Fake wood. Fake sugar. They even sold fake meat made out of soybeans. The world was crazy.
He put the bottle of genuine syrup in the cart and headed for the check out. He knew from the last time that the lady at the register moved really, really fast, so he pulled his money out before he reached her. She grabbed his cart, swiped everything through the scanner and dumped it all in a different cart. She muttered the amount, he gave it to her, she handed him his change, and before he knew it he was pushing the new cart, which did have a squeaky wheel, over to the bagging area—just a ledge that ran along the front windows and thankfully for the sake of his ears, only a few feet away. He opened his backpack and took out the book. Everything fit but the eggs. He pulled the bag out of his pocket. He'd been smart to grab it at the last minute. He put his book in the bottom of it, the eggs on top, and tied it off by the handles.
"All set?" Kowalski asked.
He nodded. He thought about putting the squeaky cart away so he could retrieve his quarter, but hearing that horrible screech wasn't worth it.
They started for home, and as they walk Kowalski quietly followed him as he had the entire trip, like a hulking, soft-hearted bodyguard on his six. He glanced back at him. "Thanks for coming with me. Helping find the syrup."
"No prob."
Seemed like he should do more than just say thanks. Kowalski didn't realize it, but he had more or less taken his life in his hands to come with him to the store. "I, uh… do you want to have some with me?" He lifted the plastic bag. "Pancakes?"
For some reason, Kowalski gave him a sad look before he smiled. "That's nice of you, but I'll leave that to you. I'm not big on pancakes. I'm more a waffle kinda guy."
Bucky nodded.
They walked the rest of the way home in silence, but Bucky realized it wasn't uncomfortable silence. It was similar to the kind of silence that used to fall between him and Steve, back in the days before life turned them both inside out and upside down.
He sat at the kitchen table, carefully snapping the stem off each green bean and pulling the string off before putting it in the green jadeite bowl that had belonged to Steve's ma. He wondered how many meals she had served out of it. How many times she'd fed him because where Steve went, Bucky followed. He used to worry sometimes that she might decide he was an extra mouth that she couldn't afford to feed anymore.
"You're worth the price of a meal now and then, James," she'd assure him as she'd press a kiss atop his unruly brown hair. "Your friendship with Steve means the world to him, and to me."
He had shrugged and scuffed his toe along the floor, not sure what to say. He finally threw his arms around her thin waist and hugged her hard. She had smelled like iodine from the TB hospital and the cinnamon she put in her oatmeal cookies and the same rosewater that Bucky's own ma dabbed on her wrists every morning. She had been like his second mother and of course Steve was just exactly like a real brother. He loved them both with all his heart, even if he did have a hard time actually saying the words.
He sniffed a little and tried to swallow the hard knot in his throat. He missed Mrs. Rogers. Probably always would.
"You all right?" Steve asked. He was sitting by the window, sketchbook in his lap.
"Yeah."
Steve regarded him for a moment, his blue eyes solemn, then he simply nodded. The soft scrape of his pencil resumed. That gentle swish-swish, along with the occasional puffing noise as he blew away eraser crumbs, was the only sound besides the ticking clock on the shelf, the snipping noise each time he snapped the end off a green bean and the soft plink of the bean against the side of the bowl as he tossed each one in.
Bucky's foot slid on an icy patch. He flailed his arms a little, the bag of eggs swinging wildly in his left hand. Kowalski without a word grabbed his right elbow to steady him, then let go as soon as Bucky found his footing again. Bucky nodded, Kowalski nodded back, and they continued on.
They made it back to their building without further incident. Bucky used his key to open the door, and they stamped their feet on the mat. After an awkward moment, Bucky nodded. "Thanks," he said softly and headed for the stairs to his room.
He needed to write down all the good things and the not so good things that had happened today. Getting triggered, overcoming it, a good walk on a cold day... making a friend.
Yes, a lot to write in his notebook, but first things first: he had pancakes to fix.
At last.
tbc...
