Chapter 11

Iris realized later that it had been incredibly foolish to believe there'd be no further consequences from what happened when Chris had opened fire on her front stoop.

Oh, she'd known things would change between her and James, and in that she'd certainly been right.

After that first evening on her couch, rarely a night went by where James didn't camp out in her living room, and many of those nights Iris found herself falling asleep next to him whether she meant to or not. More often than not, she'd wake up the next morning carefully tucked into bed, but there was the odd morning where she'd woken to find herself still curled into James' side. Once she'd even returned to the couch and his comforting presence after intending to fall asleep in her own bed; the look in those steel-blue eyes had sent a shiver through her but the tug at the corner of his mouth had eased the anxieties being alone had sent rattling around in her head. He wouldn't join her in her room, though. It was one of those quirks that she'd come to think of as an almost old-fashioned impulse. She knew better than to argue, though, recognizing that it was another of those conventions he seemed raised to adhere to.

When she asked why he didn't return to his apartment to sleep anymore, he'd given her one of those fathomless looks he had and, after a little more prodding, had admitted it made him anxious to leave her at night. Having her nearby calmed him, he'd told her, and gave him something, or someone rather, to focus on and that kept him grounded. Especially since Chris' attack had triggered his programmed aggressive instincts…and, she'd added to herself, a latent protective one. She wasn't even sure he'd realized the protective aspect yet. But Iris had.

Given what he'd revealed, she'd found herself becoming hyper-aware of his behaviors. Quite frequently in the past couple weeks he would always manage to position himself between her and doors, or she'd catch him unconsciously peering out the windows for…something, anything out of the ordinary. One day she even caught him in her little kitchenette all but twirling one of her paring knives around his fingers, his face distant but unsatisfied, as if the balance of the kitchen knife didn't suit whatever he was trying to do. The next day she'd noticed a military-grade knife peeking out from just inside the back waistband of his faded black jeans when he'd been reaching for something, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal the dark handle.

Besides, he'd added with a trace of that mischievous grin, she'd asked him to stay.

But that's not what else she should have expected. What she should have expected approached her on the street barely a month after Chris' drive-by.

"Hey!" Iris paid little attention to the shouted greeting at first, not expecting anyone to be calling out to her on the street as she walked home from a morning shift at the restaurant. But when the voice called again she turned, openly confused as a man strode up to her, a friendly, open look on his face. He was tall and dark-skinned with neatly trimmed facial hair and a pair of sunglasses that he removed as he approached, his expressive eyes squinting a bit in the sun as he did so. There was something about his demeanor that put her at ease, but the measure of economy and control in his gait said to her that he was possibly military; a lot of ex-military guys came into the restaurant and they all had that same sort of bearing. That realization put her right back on guard again.

"Hey, how're you doin'," he repeated, smiling widely as he came to a stop beside her. Iris managed a small 'fine' back, one that he nodded in acknowledgement of before continuing. "You live here, right? In this neighbourhood?" Suddenly growing suspicious Iris nodded, doing her best to keep him from realizing she was uneasy. He smiled again, his hands hooked casually in his front pockets, his posture relaxed.

"Great. That's great. Listen, I'm looking for someone, and I think he's been staying in this area. I've been asking around a bit without much luck. Maybe you've seen him?" Iris was still eyeing him warily, especially as an image of James flashed unbidden through her mind's eyes. So she simply shrugged. She was willing to play along. The more helpful she seemed, the more likely he was to believe she was telling the truth…regardless of whether or not she bent the truth or even if she was forced to lie.

"Maybe. It's possible. I work at a restaurant not far from here and a lot of locals drop in." Grinning, he withdrew a hand from his jeans' pocket and reached into his jacket's, pulling out a phone. Tapping at the screen a couple times he handed it to her.

Her suspicion that he was looking for James meant that she was prepared when she was confronted with a grainy picture of him; it was hard to tell, but it was definitely James. She'd wondered once if he'd been military or something of that sort—black ops or whatever—but seeing a picture of him in dark combat gear of some kind with that particular focused look on his face? There was no question he was a soldier. If she'd had any doubt anymore about what he'd been…what he was…it was long gone now.

But she dutifully looked over the image, studying the face she had come to know quite well, all while working hard to keep a neutral but considering look plastered on her face. Finally she shrugged, handing the phone back to him.

"Maybe. It's hard to say." He gave her a considering look, raising the phone absently as he continued, motioning that he was still referring to the subject of the photo.

"His name's Bucky, Bucky Barnes. Might go by James. Or might be going by a different name altogether. Last bead I got on him was from a police report from a few weeks back saying someone saw him. Said he and another resident got shot at by some punk, but the bullets seemed to bounce right off him." Iris had to fight not to react to the offhanded comment. Someone had seen him with her that night. She made herself frown, though, glancing up at the man.

"Yeah, some guy decided to do a drive-by. I was on my way home from work that night and nearly got caught out by it. I don't remember seeing this guy, though. I'm pretty sure I'd remember the bullet thing." The lie came surprisingly easy. He frowned himself in response, fixing her with a pointed look.

"You're sure?" She shrugged in response, starting to get nervous that he could see through her blatant lie but still fighting to appear casual.

"A lot of people come through this area. It's not known for its long-term residents. A couple of the neighbours rent out on a weekly basis. I rent out by the month. In fact, I just lost one of my tenants a little while back. I don't suppose you're looking for an apartment, are you? Good rate; it's not much but it's fairly clean and in good shape." He laughed congenially at her half-hearted sales pitch but it didn't quite mask the flicker of frustrated disappointment.

"Naw, I've got a place, thanks," he chuckled, "but hey," he dug into his jacket pocket again, pulling out a business card and holding it out to her. "If you do see him, give me a shout, okay? I'm Sam."

"Iris," she offered back out of habit. He nodded in acknowledgement. After a split-second of hesitation she took the card, taking in the name—Sam Wilson—before giving him a smile back. He seemed to catch the reserve in it, his warm eyes turning serious. "My friend and I are looking to help this guy. But there are others out there who want him too. Guys with bad motives. We're not after him to hurt him," he abruptly assured her. Iris eyed him warily again, getting the odd feeling like this wasn't just a pitch but that he was being honest with her. But she still definitely did not trust him…not completely, at least. The memory of James falling apart on her couch flickered behind her eyes. No. She wasn't about to risk James' safety so blithely, even if this man did seem trustworthy.

"Yeah, sure," she lied. She held back a nervous swallow at the measuring look he gave her. But then it was gone and he was smiling again.

"Good. You have a good one," he offered before turning and walking off, pausing only to look back at her once as he did. Iris didn't move, fiddling thoughtfully with her necklace, watching him as he strode casually down the street, only looking down at the card in her hand after he'd crossed the street, heading on to question someone else.

The paper card was easy to crumple in her hand, but she couldn't quite bring herself to throw it away. Sighing heavily she glanced up the street toward her house and the window she knew James might very well be sitting at if he was home at the moment, if not out on one of his wanderings. Worry and fear flickered in her chest. He hadn't been exaggerating.

People were after him.

And while Iris grudgingly believed this Sam guy was being honest that he wasn't after James to hurt him, she wasn't so naïve to think that the next one to come looking would have the same intentions. Forcing in a shuddering, nervous breath Iris continued on home, each step feeling like she was dragging a weight behind it.

Pain stabbed through her at the realization of what this Sam Wilson's appearance meant.

James was going to leave.

And soon.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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