AN: My readers, I have a re-write of this chapter for you, as well as a new character for you to meet. I hope she's met with your approval, as I am looking forward to elaborating on her past as I keep going. Please let me know what you think, and I will try to get the remaining chapters up soon.
Once again, thank you for your patience and understanding as I re-work certain parts of my story.
She ran. She ran because she had to. Because she needed to. Needed to expound herself of the pain, the sorrow, the anger, the ever-rising despair that threatened to consume her heart all over again.
Kim ran. She had no true destination in mind, just the driving need to go. Run. Keep pushing herself until her legs burned and lungs constricted in protest. She didn't care; she'd do anything to distract herself from the hurt that was pulsing within her.
Breathe in. One, two. Breathe out. One, two. Her heavy breaths coming steadily now that she'd set her pace, tears still streaming from her eyes. She just had to be as far away from home as possible, even if only temporarily. Breathe in. One, two. Breathe out. One, two…
To her right, she heard Bucky's steady breathing as he ran alongside her, keeping the pace she set whether she lengthened or shortened her stride. The jacket and cap still concealed him, and despite how much he must have been sweltering beneath them in this heat, she never heard him once complain, nor did he ever tell her to stop or slow down. Just matched her stride-for-stride, letting her lead him wherever she needed to go.
Somehow, Kim had managed to subconsciously guide him down some of the less frequented side-streets in town, which would reduce their chances of being seen by members of the community in broad daylight. Those who knew her might have some questions regarding her strange new running partner, and the last thing she wanted to face was an endless series of questions. Especially if one of them—and it was entirely possible—happened to recognize who he was…
As they rounded the corner at Sycamore Drive, intermittent shade from the trees flanking either side of the road cooled Kim, who was sweating profusely at her temples. It was actually quite amazing how fluidly she was running, how effortless it was to be going at a much faster pace than usual. Due to her inexperience as a runner, she'd limited herself only to light jogging, thinking it would be the best way for her body to adjust as her prosthetics evolved. But now…now it was as if she'd been a well-trained marathoner for years.
Still, no matter how hard she ran, no matter how much she focused on ridding herself of all feelings…the pain in her heart just wasn't subsiding. Her vision wavered yet again as she thought about Aunt Laura's final gut-wrenching accusation, the tears building up when Scotty's young face emerged in her mind. She automatically quickened her pace. How happy he'd had been the last day she'd seen him, the smile he gave her just before they both ran into the waves together…and then seeing him when his small body was pulled from the water…
Her eyes snapped shut as she screamed long and hard, sprinting ahead for several yards before slamming her foot down on the ground. The scream abruptly ended as she flew through the air, making an impressively long arc for what felt like ages—and for a moment, everything seemed to slow, became so quiet as her mind frantically tried to process what was occurring—until she collided roughly with the ground, rolling a few times before she finally came to a stop at the side of the road.
"Kim!" Bucky's voice seemed so far away.
Kim grunted, but didn't move. She remained curled on her side, her chest heaving as she fought to regain her breath, pain throbbing in time with her heartbeat and making the fresh scrapes on her skin very noticeable.
Bucky's rapid footsteps drew nearer. "Kim," he repeated, Kim's vision darkening when his shadow loomed over her.
Even if she could have answered him, she wasn't sure what she would have said, so simply waited for the throbbing to subside. The pain wasn't that bad, really; just unexpected.
"Kim," she felt him place a hand on her shoulder.
She exhaled heavily. Opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was the wooden post of the fence right in front of her, and as she lifted her head, she paused when she met the glassy black eyes of the cow on the opposite side. Her brow furrowed; she'd collapsed somewhere in front of Doc Miller's farm, whose property began just beyond the trees of Sycamore. The cow just stood there, staring at Kim, chewing her cud almost mockingly at her.
Kim huffed out a shallow breath. Yeah, I'll bet that was entertaining, she thought dryly, pushing herself up from the ground at last. She didn't object at all to Bucky's assistance, her shoulders still rising and falling rapidly as she breathed. She couldn't remember running that hard in her life. Ever. How the hell had she been able to keep it up for so long? Glancing back, the evidence of her fall was clearly marked in the dirt, quite the impressive skid from what she could determine. Even though her mind was a tangled mess of emotions, she couldn't help but wonder how far she'd gone from the moment she stomped her foot down…
The pressure of his fingers tightening on her shoulder brought her attention back to Bucky, and though his face was dripping with sweat and his own chest heaved, his concerned eyes remained riveted on hers. He didn't even blink when he told her quite plainly, "I think it's time for a break."
She swallowed, feeling how parched her throat really was, and she gave a subtle nod. Yes; that was enough for now.
Bucky stood, and she accepted his bionic hand when offered, the metal grip warm from exposure to the sun. A heavy sigh fell from her as she examined the scrapes on her dirty arms, but the worst of her injuries appeared to be her skinned knee, courtesy of her initial contact with the asphalt. It stung, but wouldn't impede her ability to walk. Looking over her prosthetic, though, she couldn't find any trace of damage due to her fall. Stark was right: this was one hell of an alloy he'd utilized. At least something came out of that unscathed, she thought.
Brushing the dust and dirt from her clothes, Kim checked their current surroundings. About a half mile down the road, she could see the back of a familiar building at the next intersection, and the sparsely populated parking lot beside it.
Time for a break, Bucky's words echoed in her head. She looked down at her arms, seeing how dirty and scratched they were, not to mention the thin lines of blood starting to squeeze through. She really couldn't return home looking the way that she did. Sure, she couldn't completely hide the fact that she'd taken a fall like that from Stark—and more than likely, she'd be writing about it later—but perhaps she could soften the blow. Just a little bit.
Sucking in a breath, she roughly wiped the tears away from her damp cheeks. "Trust me?" She whispered.
"Yes," Bucky answered.
Good. She touched her hand to his right arm, a gesture for him to follow. "Come on."
The Boxcar was a small diner just on the outskirts of Frederick County, and one of the biggest draws for many of the local residents. The owners prided themselves on meals made completely from scratch, and that included their homemade pies and fresh-churned ice cream. It was a place Kim had frequented with her grandmother ever since she moved to the D.C. area, and a quiet haven she could retreat to when Rebecca's condition became overwhelming at times. Anymore, the staff had grown accustomed to her spontaneous visits. Thankfully, their lunch rush appeared to be long over by now, which, after some further encouragement from Kim, helped to ease Bucky's anxieties about going into a public place.
As soon as the tinkering bell of the opening door announced their arrival, Kim heard a gasp, and then the clattering of a metal coffee urn against the countertop.
"My God, Kim!" The lone waitress on duty—and the only one in the diner who had a very distinct British accent—all but sprinted around the edge of the counter, a few tresses of her dark-blonde hair coming loose from her ponytail. "Are you alright? What happened to you?"
Yep, she must have been quite a sight with her tear-streaked face and unkempt appearance, but the last thing she wanted was to draw the attentions of the few customers seated inside. Unfortunately, they were looking in their direction, whether she liked it or not. "I'm alright, Emma," she held up a hand to calm her as she crossed over to her. "Don't freak out."
"Don't freak out?" She said incredulously, her normally gentle voice rising a bit more than usual, and it hardly went unnoticed when she threw a glance at the strange man accompanying her. "You come in here looking like you've been dragged through a bloody field, and you tell me not to freak out?" As she took one of Kim's arms to inspect it, she looked over at Bucky again, and Kim silently prayed that she wouldn't ask questions about him. Not yet. Thankfully, Emma's focus quickly returned to the rough scratches marring her skin. "God, look at you," she murmured, being careful not to actually touch the bleeding marks. "What happened?"
Kim sighed. Emma had come to know both her and her grandmother pretty well over time, and she couldn't ignore the genuine concern that was present in her voice. "I…fell." God, that sounded lame even to her own ears.
Emma stared at her a moment longer, her eyes flicking once more to Bucky as she seemed to contemplate something. No questions, Emma. Please…
"Right, well…come on, dearie," she said, draping an arm around her shoulders, "let's get you cleaned up then." Craning her neck around, she called out, "Hey, Dave? Dave? Do you mind watching the front for a moment?"
The cook poked his head through the open kitchen window. "Yeah, sure." He frowned when he saw Kim. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine; just want to help her get cleaned up, is all."
He gave a nod. "Go on. I'll hold down the fort."
"Thanks." Emma led Kim away from the main dining area, navigating her towards the restrooms in the back. Just as they got to the ladies' room, though, she felt Emma turn at her side.
"No no, love; this is ladies' room only. You'll have to wait out—"
Oh no, Kim thought, but it was too late. Just as Emma reached out to place a halting hand on Bucky's chest, he instantly caught her wrist, eliciting a harsh gasp from her throat.
"No, don't!" Kim hissed through her teeth, trying not to yell out.
Bucky didn't move, but his grip also never faltered on Emma, who stared at him—and the metal hand grasping her—with wide eyes. She remained frozen in place, her face blanching while his hardened gaze bore into hers.
Kim swallowed. "Hey," the word came out in a choked whisper, but he didn't relent. Emma said nothing. Absolutely nothing. But at the same time, something in her steady gaze seemed to change the longer she looked at him, the initial fear morphing into what she could only describe as…sympathy? Even her wrist appeared to become somewhat limp in his grasp, a sign to show that she would not struggle.
Drawing in a breath, Kim moved slowly to Bucky's side, placing a hand on his right shoulder. "Hey, look at me. Look at me…" It took a moment, but Bucky finally turned his eyes to her, and through his steely expression, she saw a shimmer of recognition. "She's just trying to help," she said softly. "Let her go."
Bucky hesitated, but the longer he stared at her, the more clarity seemed to return to his eyes. Exhaling audibly, he released Emma, who slowly drew her wrist back to rub at it.
Kim continued to keep her hand on him. "She's going to help me get cleaned up, so I'll be back out soon," she glanced along the wall, seeing the three booths that were normally reserved for when the wait-staff went on their breaks. "Here," she led him to the last one, "wait for me here, okay?"
He never looked away from her the entire time she'd spoken, but he drew in a breath and gave a nod, letting her guide him to sit in the vinyl-lined booth. She whispered quietly to him, and when he gave her an apologetic look, she gave him as reassuring a smile as possible.
Her hand lingered on his shoulder for several more seconds, but when she sensed more of a calmness descending upon him, she turned back to Emma, who was still holding her wrist as she watched them raptly.
"Come on, Emma," she said softly, "he needs to be alone for a minute."
Though her brow furrowed, Emma nodded, turning to open the door of the restroom at last. Kim threw one last glance back at Bucky, whose face was obscured by his baseball cap when he bowed his head.
Being a small diner, the restrooms were single occupancy only, but neither of them seemed to be bothered by the cramped space. Emma gave Kim the spare hair-tie from around her wrist, which she used to pull her hair back so she could wash her face. Despite how hot it had been outside, the splash of warm water on her face was a welcome relief, washing away the dirt and grime and tears that had accumulated on her skin. Washing away all that was making her heart and mind heavy with grief; washing away the pain, even if only on the surface.
She took the washcloth Emma offered her from the lone shelf, blotting her face dry while she watched her rummage through the first-aid kit on the wall. Kim also took time to wash her arms before Emma put the lid down on the toilet seat, giving her a place to sit.
Emma wrung out another clean cloth at the sink and knelt before Kim, bringing the cloth to her knee. Despite her best efforts to be careful, Kim hissed at the contact. "Sorry, love."
"It's fine," she wheezed, tensing briefly when she touched her knee again.
"Alright, then," she soothed, tucking an errant dark-blonde tress behind her ear. "You're alright."
The more she focused on how that lovely accent filled her ears, the more she felt herself start to relax, and soon enough, the worst of the stinging sensation in her knee quickly subsided.
While the she continued to dab away the flecks of blood, Kim watched her silently. Emma Archer had kind blue eyes on a sweet face, and her endless capacity to care about others never ceased to amaze her. She'd also become quite an unexpected constant in Kim's life ever since she'd moved to Maryland, starting from the very first day her grandmother introduced them to one another at the diner. What immediately stood out to her, of course, was the elegance of her accent when she warmly greeted her. Hearing such a distinct manner of speech somehow put her heart at ease, helped make her feel as though she wasn't the only one who would be perceived as an outsider in a strange place.
Kim would never forget how stunned she was when Emma, a perfect stranger at the time, had instantly come forth and wrapped her up in a tight hug. With all that had happened with her parents, it didn't occur to her to mind, and she figured it was a simply gesture of comfort on her part. But then she explained that she and Rebecca had spoken at great length regarding each other's family histories over the months, and revealed that had it not been for Captain Rogers—and those who eventually became his Howling Commandos—her grandfather wouldn't have survived his imprisonment during WWII.
You're one of their descendants, Kim; meeting you is an honor and a privilege, she'd told her at the time.
From that day on, the bond between them continued to grow stronger, and it soon became natural to hear Emma calling her variations of "love" and "dear" whenever she came into the diner. Something about the elegance of her accent…Kim liked it. It helped to put her heart at ease, made her feel as though she wasn't the only one perceived as an outsider in a strange place. Made her feel like she belonged.
Emma stood, pulling Kim from her thoughts, and rinsed the cloth at the sink. "You know," she finally said after some time, "I'm not normally one to pry, but you've certainly brought some interesting characters into our little shop as of late." She turned the faucet off, wringing out the cloth before kneeling once again to clean her skin. "First, Mr. Stark; then Captain Rogers that one time. And now…" She trailed off, releasing a sigh as she sat back on her heels, and Kim knew that look in her eyes when they locked with hers: concern laced with traces of protection. "I'm not sure if 'friend' is the proper title for this one. Who is he, Kim?"
"James," she answered quickly, hoping the tremor wasn't apparent in her voice. "His name is James."
Emma's gaze held hers. "James," she repeated, the name sounding so regal coming from her. Obviously, she was expecting more.
She took a discreet breath. "Distant cousin on Mom's side. Third cousin, I think." It was the best she could come up with. "I invited him out here to visit."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "While your Gran is sick?"
"It's—" think fast, she told herself, "—a little complicated. We've never met before, and when he heard about Grandma's first stroke, he really wanted to come see me."
Emma paused, her arms unfolding. "First…stroke?"
Damn it, she thought, scolding herself. She hadn't told her about that yet. With a sigh, she dropped her eyes and said, "Yeah. She…had another stroke two days ago."
"My God," Emma breathed softly, and Kim looked up as she rested both her hands atop her prosthetic knee, the unmistakable sorrow in her features making her heart clench. "I'm so sorry, Kim."
She smiled sadly. It touched her to hear how concerned she truly was for her grandmother.
"I wish you would have at least called. If you needed anything, I could have come over at some—"
"It just wouldn't have been good timing," Kim interrupted. "For anything. There's already enough going on at home, and I just wanted to keep things quiet for Aunt Laura, so…" She trailed off, spreading her hands.
Emma gave a fleeting smile. "Yes, of course," she conceded. "Who else knows besides your aunt?"
She sighed. "Steve; Tony. Now you."
She nodded. "I suppose it makes sense, then, as to why you want your cousin's company at this time. Helps to have family you can actually talk to during difficult times, yeah?"
"Yeah," Kim agreed quietly.
She picked up the cloth from her lap. "He's not from around here, is he? James."
Kim shook her head. "New York," she told her. At least that part was true.
Emma made an acknowledging sound. "New York. That might explain his demeanor," she grabbed a bottle of antiseptic from the sink, pouring some onto a corner of the cloth. "The strong, silent type. Emphasis on the 'strong.'"
Kim glanced at her wrist, sighing to herself when she saw the mark Bucky had left there. There would be a definite bruise by tomorrow. "He didn't mean anything by it, Emma. He's just had a rough couple of days."
Emma raised an eyebrow, carefully touching the cloth to her knee. "Perhaps more than a couple of days, if you ask me."
Kim's brow furrowed, partially from the sting of antiseptic, but more from her comment. "But there's a reason for it, Emma: he's had a hard time adjusting since coming home from Iraq."
She paused, looking up at her. "He was in the army?"
Thank goodness; she was buying it. Nodding, she said, "Yeah. Three tours."
Her eyes widened a little. "Oh…What happened to him?"
Kim chewed her lower lip, but only briefly, having already concocted a plausible story in her mind. "He doesn't talk about it, but…I know he was given orders to kill some people, and he had a hard time carrying them out." She winced when Emma pressed her knee too hard, and she murmured an apology. "It messed him up pretty badly."
She nodded slowly. "I'm not surprised. In some cases, PTSD has been known to traumatize the minds of soldiers to the point of completely altering their personalities," Emma replied, blowing on Kim's knee to soothe it. "It's not something I'm completely unfamiliar with."
Yes, Kim thought, recalling some of the stories she'd told about her grandfather. She knew that Emma had firsthand knowledge of how PTSD had impacted him, and their family, and sometimes it was hard for her to discuss at length…
"Looking at you now," she went on, "I can't help but assume that your cousin might have taken some of that stress out on you as well."
Her eyes widened at the insinuation. "Oh, no," she held up her hands, shaking her head. "No. He didn't have anything to do with this. I swear."
Emma's eyes were locked with hers, still searching, still slightly skeptical, trying to determine the validity of her statement. At one point, her brow furrowed a bit. "You really did fall, Kim?"
She blew out a breath. "Yes. Something's been going on with this new leg lately, and I...sort of just tested it out again. Kind of hard to explain without giving you the same kind of show I just gave Elsie out there a bit ago."
At that, Emma finally covered her mouth let out a laugh, and that break in the tension lightened Kim's heart a little. "Scaring the livestock at Doc Miller's, Kim dear? Aren't you just becoming all sorts of trouble," she shook her head, then gave a sigh. "If what you're saying about your cousin is true, and he hasn't laid a hand on you—"
"He hasn't," Kim assured, "I promise you that."
Emma gave a nod, though her face was serious. "Then so long as he does right by you, he'll have no problem with me, dearie." She pulled a band-aid from her pocket. "Sorry; it's Peanuts characters, but it will work until you can get home."
"S'okay. I like Snoopy," Kim said, watching her place the adhesive across one of the larger scratches. "Might want to use two."
Emma pulled another from her pocket, covering even more of the wound. "Let's see that arm," she stood and poured more antiseptic onto the cloth, but then paused, giving her marked wrist a pensive look. "Speaking of which, he was injured in the war, wasn't he?" She asked, looking at Kim. "His hand; it's made of metal. He's an amputee."
The sudden skip of her heart caused her to clear her throat. "Oh yeah."
Her eyes saddened as she leaned back against the sink. "So, it's another prosthetic like yours, then? One that Mr. Stark designed for him? I mean, it looked rather intricate compared to most I've seen."
Kim licked her lips. "No. It does what he needs, but we're hoping Tony can eventually take a look at it and see if any modifications can be made."
"Hmm," Emma commented, turning to put the bottle down. "Be interesting to see what he'd do to improve on it. The man already had one hell of a grip on him."
Kim reached out to touch her elbow. "Emma?" Emma paused, waiting for her to go on. "I know I have no right to ask you this, and I know it'll probably raise even more questions for you, but…" She took a breath. "Will you please keep who he is and the fact that he's here on the down-low? He's so uncomfortable around people to begin with, and I think the less they're talking about him, the better off he'll be. He's family, and I don't want to make him to feel out-of-sorts." She sighed through her nose, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I know he's done enough running away for one lifetime."
Emma blinked, brow furrowing in thought. "Rebecca doesn't know that he's here, does she?"
Kim swallowed, shaking her head. "Hard to say," she muttered, casting her eyes downward.
"Which means your aunt doesn't know, either."
Kim looked up again. "Please, Emma. He needs me. Deep down, he's a good man; he just needs to be left alone right now."
She tilted her head. "Considering how protective he already seems to be around you, I have no doubt about that." Then her eyes softened. "If it's important you, Kim dear—and so long as you're honest with me about what happens from here on out—then your secret is safe with me."
She felt her eyes shine with gratitude. "Thank you."
A gentle smile crossed her lips, and Emma absently shook her head. "The interesting life you already lead, Kim," she commented, pressing the cloth to one of the scrapes on Kim's arm; it didn't hurt nearly as much as her knee.
Interesting doesn't even come close, she thought, releasing a breath through her nose.
"When we're finished in here," Emma went on, cleaning the last of her scrapes, "I know you prefer tea, but what about James? Think he'd take some coffee?"
Actually, that was a good question, and she lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. "I don't know. Worth a shot, I guess."
She smiled. "Alright. Milk and sugar, then?"
"No milk!" Kim said abruptly, causing Emma to raise her brows. Watch it, she warned herself, shaking her head. "H-he's not a fan of it. That much I do know."
Emma stared at her a moment longer, but then smiled, turning back to the sink to re-rinse the cloth. "Alright, then; sugar it is."
Kim released another quiet breath.
They'd already downed the waters Emma had brought them, the empty glasses sitting at the edge of the table while they waited for refills. Kim sat silently across the booth from Bucky, her finger slowly tracing the rim of her tea mug. He set his own mug down again, Kim's eyes flicking up to follow the movement of his hand. Bucky was actually drinking his coffee, which, so far, he'd only taken black. She automatically made a mental note to herself.
Neither of them had said more than two words since she returned from the restroom, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence between them. It just…was. Her body was still sore from her fall, but it didn't hurt nearly as bad as the pain that was still radiating beneath her chest. And it wasn't just her grandmother's health, nor the sting of Aunt Laura's words that were continuing to haunt her…
"Was she hurt?"
Kim's eyes snapped to his. "Hmm?"
He swallowed. "The woman. Did I hurt her?"
She took a breath and sighed, shaking her head. "No; she's okay."
"But you're not." There was nothing but absolute certainty in his voice, and the silence lingered between them once more. Something about the way he was looking at her, the intensity of his gaze never wavering, had Kim's shoulders sagging from the weight of his concern.
Biting down on her lip, she returned her attention to her mug. "No," she whispered so softly that she barely heard it even in her own ears. She hadn't been okay for a very long time.
Bucky was waiting. Waiting for her to cry; waiting for her to speak; she had a feeling that no matter what she said or did, he would do anything to let her know that he was here, that he was listening.
But did she have the strength to confess to him that…?
She closed her eyes. "What Aunt Laura said—about Scotty…"
Bucky briefly shook his head. "She had no right—"
"But she did," she interjected, a touch louder this time. He said nothing, and when she forced herself to look at him, those grey-blue orbs had narrowed at her slightly. There was no mistaking that he expected her to go on. Kim drew in a shaking breath, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have died."
His eyes widened—in disbelief? In shock? Whatever he felt in that moment, he still remained silent, and she though she hesitated—plagued by the rush of memories that returned to her for what felt like the millionth time—Kim knew she had no choice but to go on.
Dropping her gaze, she shook her head. "He was—right there," she said, tears already starting to sting her eyes, "next to me. He…Mom told me to keep an eye on him…"
"Where were you?" He asked softly.
"Myrtle Beach." During what was supposed to be a relaxing family vacation for spring break. Instead, it had turned out to be a living nightmare. Every detail of that day was still so vivid in her mind, from the salty scent of the air, to the hammering of her heart when her fear had hit its peak. She sniffed, wiping her cheeks as she took a steadying breath. "Scotty…he loved swimming. He was hoping to see turtles in the water." His simple wish; how sweet it seemed to her so many years later. "Mom said it was okay for me to take him out for a swim."
"Your parents stayed on land?"
She nodded. "We were playing out there. We didn't go very far, and he was right next to me, but…" She remembered how her eyes had stung when Scotty splashed salty water in her face, how they'd attempted to ride the incoming waves—waves that were surprisingly forceful, making her feel a slight pull further away from the shore every now and then. But both she and Scotty were good swimmers, so it wasn't enough to make either of them uneasy. God damn it, it should have, though…
"Kim," Bucky said, pulling a trembling gasp from her. "You can tell me."
She finally lifted her eyes to his, and for the briefest of seconds, it occurred to her that talking to him about this had been…had been akin to when she would talk to his photograph. Different, yes, but regardless of his appearance, he was still the same man she pretended to confide in when she was younger.
Somehow, that gave her strength to go on. "He was right next to me, and I turned away for just a few seconds." She frowned, releasing a humorless laugh. "Para-sailors. Of all things, I turn away to look at a couple of para-sailors, and when I looked back…h-he was gone. Scotty was gone."
The tears fell down her cheeks, though she paid them no mind. "I thought he was just trying to scare me so he could laugh at the look on my face, and I yelled for him to knock it off. God, I yelled at him, Bucky!" The same feeling of panic that had overwhelmed her back then served to quicken her pulse even now.
Bucky leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, an indication that he was listening closely.
"I…I tried to find him. I knew he couldn't hold his breath that long…"
"But he never came up," he finished for her.
Kim bit her lip hard. No, because he couldn't. The searing tears reminded her of how horribly her eyes had burned when she'd gone underwater and held them open, her vision clouded without goggles on, and how frantically her mind raced when she resurfaced and cried out for him. She was choking on mouthfuls of water, coughing as she tried to scream for her parents, and even from a distance, she clearly remembered the look of terror on their faces…
She sighed, her head hanging in shame. "He was a good swimmer," she whispered, "and we knew what to do in case of rip-tides. But something went wrong, and he needed me. My brother needed me, and I was too damn distracted to realize it." It's my fault, a voice whispered woefully within her; it's my fault. Sniffing quietly, she turned away to look out the window, letting a long exhale pass through her lips.
But he caught her attention again when he held out his napkin to her, and she mumbled a thanks as she took it and pressed it to her damp face.
"No one understands what you're going through better than me," Bucky said quietly, and she lowered the napkin from her eyes to see him. "Scotty's death wasn't your fault, but I know what it is to be haunted by regret." He clenched his jaw, but still went on. "I won't tell you how to feel, but from what you've told me, I know you would have helped him if you'd known he was in trouble. You tried to find him when you realized something wasn't right." Reaching out, he took one of her hands in his, the metal of it oddly comforting in its solidness. "That's something to remember about yourself, Kim."
She could only stare at his hand holding hers. Six years. It had been six years since she'd been able to discuss Scotty's death with anyone—including her grandmother—but that had finally changed in Bucky's presence. It didn't matter that she'd known him less than a week; having him here…She couldn't explain it, but the way he simply listened; the way his eyes had never left hers; the realization that there hadn't been any inkling of judgment on his end…something about talking to him just felt so right.
Still, there were other memories plaguing her that refused to be ignored. "Do you think that…" She trailed off.
"What?"
She drew in a breath, but could do nothing to quell the quaking of her voice when she asked, "If I'd been able to save Scotty that day, do you think my Mom and Dad would still be alive?"
His eyes widened slightly. "Why would you think that?"
"Because of how much they started fighting after he died. Maybe if I'd gotten to him, they wouldn't have been fighting the night of the crash. Dad might have seen that car swerving at him sooner if he wasn't yelling at Mom."
The steadiness of his gaze never wavered. "We can't know that for sure, Kim," he laid his other hand atop their clasped ones, "but I'll be damned if I let you blame yourself for that."
She stared at him, but just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, Emma set a new glass of water in front of her, causing Bucky to jerk his hands back from hers. "Sorry that took so long," she said, pulling another full glass from her tray to set in front of Bucky, "had to fix some desserts for one of my tables, and that's not always a quick thing." She paused when she glanced at Kim, taking the empty glasses from the table. "Alright there, Kim dear?"
The question didn't come as a surprise; her cheeks must have been red from where she'd rubbed away tears. But seeing Bucky bow his head to conceal himself gave her the incentive she needed to push aside her emotions and focus on protecting him. "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
She gave a nod. "Yeah. Just a long talk about—"
"Parents," Bucky muttered, catching both their attentions, but he wasn't looking at either of them.
Emma seemed to consider his response, tilting her head at the barest angle, but then smiled. "Well, since I had to get desserts anyway," from her tray, she presented them with two plates of pie, "I brought you both a little treat. And don't you worry: I'll pick up your tab today."
As sweet as her gesture was, Kim started to protest. "You don't have to—"
But she held up a hand. "None of that. I can't stand seeing you only drink tea when you come in here. Besides, it's not every day I get to say 'thank you' to one of our servicemen." She turned to Bucky. "I hope cherry's okay, love. It's Kim's favorite, so I figured I'd bring it and see what you think."
It took a moment, but then he gave a start when he suddenly realized her words were directed at him, and he eyed her warily. In truth, he seemed to be at a loss as to how to respond.
To spare him the awkwardness of a long pause, Kim gave her head a shake. "Honestly. It's not necessary—"
"Kim," Bucky interrupted, causing her to look at him. "You need to eat. I know you haven't eaten anything since lunch."
She blinked, surprised at how adamant he sounded just then.
"Listen to your cousin," Emma said, and Kim hardly missed the small smile twisting her lips, "he's looking out for you."
She couldn't help but smile faintly in return. "Thanks, Emma."
"You can make it up to me by bringing Mr. Stark in here again someday," she tucked that errant tress behind her ear again. "I was able to pay off more than half of my tuition with the tip he left last time."
Her smile widened, even if only a little. "He's at my house right now, actually."
"Is he?"
"Yeah. Duking it out with Aunt Laura again."
"I see," she nodded in grim understanding. "Well then, best get a slice ready for him to-go, yeah? Enjoy, loves. I'll bring some more coffee in a bit." Just as she was about to leave, she paused next to Bucky's side of the booth. "Thank you, soldier," she said softly.
He stiffened, but said nothing as she walked away to check on another one of her tables.
Something about the worry on his face caused her heart to clench. "Her grandpa was in the British army, so she has a lot of respect for those who have served," Kim explained, and he turned to her, uncertainty clearly written in his eyes. "I told her you were in the army, too."
"You did?"
She nodded. "I just didn't tell her when you were in the army." Perhaps she should have elaborated on when Emma's grandfather was in the army as well, but...part of her felt that was a conversation best left for another time.
"Does she know…?"
"Who you really are? No. She thinks you're my cousin, James, and that you're out here visiting me while Grandma's sick."
"She…thinks I'm James?"
"It would be a little less obvious than calling you Bucky. Besides," she half-shrugged, "James is your given name. Thought maybe it'd be a good thing to call you that in case anyone ever asks questions about who you are."
His brows drew together, those eyes squinting slightly in thought. "No one…no one's called me James in a…long time…"
She frowned. "Does that bother you?"
"No," he said quietly. "No, it's…" Then he lifted his gaze, revealing the barest hint of warmth touching his eyes. "James is good."
Feeling the tightness that had been in her chest start to loosen, Kim sighed to herself. "Alright." Then she paused. "Hey. You heard what they said back at home, right? That Grandma left me the house?"
"Yes."
Very slowly, she laid a hand on the table. "I want you to stay. Live with me there. Permanently." His eyes lifted to hers. "I mean, after Aunt Laura leaves, and things have—"
His hand covered hers, stopping the words in her throat. "You already asked me to stay last night; my answer hasn't changed."
She blinked. "Yeah?"
"Yes. I promised Rebecca I'd take care of you, Kim, and I intend to keep that promise."
God, was it possible for her heart to swell any larger? "When did you…?"
"When you gave me time with her."
This time, she could actually feel the smile crossing her features. To hear him make such a promise…she knew she would hold onto it forever, and that alone provided her with a sense of strength that she'd needed for a very long time.
With a nod, she said, "Okay," and that mere word finalized their future living arrangement. Looking down at her pie, she suddenly sensed the growling discomfort of her stomach. Okay, so she was hungrier than she'd wanted to admit. Drawing her hand back from his, she picked up her fork at last. "They're pretty famous for their pies here, and the owner makes them herself every day. I'm pretty boring: I like cherry the best." She jutted her chin at him. "You should try yours."
He stared down at the plate a moment longer, then followed suit as he reached for his fork and proceeded to take an experimental bite. She waited patiently, observing the subtle changes in his stoic face while he chewed.
She lifted her brows. "Good?"
"Very," he mumbled, taking another bite. "You hardly have boring taste in food."
At that, Kim half-smiled. "Who was the last person to call you James? Do you remember?" She asked before popping a cherry-filled forkful into her mouth.
Bucky looked down as he mulled her question, and though his brow furrowed in concentration, he soon looked up at her again. "M-my mother," he uttered, taking a breath. "Wasn't a…big fan of nicknames."
Another memory. At this rate, maybe he'd be able to fill an entire book with his recollections. Speaking of which… "Still got my journal on you?"
He reached into his jacket, pulling it from his inner-pocket.
She nodded once. "When Emma gets back, I'm going to ask to borrow one of her pens."
Bucky gave a nod of his own, and the two continued to eat quietly together in the back of the diner.
The pigeon is at rest.
That was the cryptic message Stark had texted sometime after they'd left the diner, and despite how much her stomach was twisting in knots, Kim assured him that she was already on her way home. Perhaps eating that pie hadn't been the best idea, but then again, Bucky was right: she'd really needed to eat something.
The eight-mile trek back to her neighborhood would have felt so much longer if Bucky hadn't been by her side. For the most part, he remained quiet, but every now and then, he'd pull out her journal and leaf through it, taking in her latest entry over and over again, making a comment or two to himself. She didn't mind his lack of conversation; after their talk at the diner, it was enough knowing that he was simply there. Simply making sure she was alright.
As they neared her street, however, she advised him it would be best to split up, just in case Stark happened to be watching for her from the front porch. Bucky had nodded in agreement, giving her hand one last tentative squeeze before plunging into the woods starting at the side of the road. It was obvious he'd gone that way before several times before, and she was confident that he'd eventually find his way back to her yet again. She glanced at her iPhone: 6:47p.m.
Sure enough, as she neared her house—God, her house—Stark was waiting out there for her, arching an eyebrow the closer she got. "Geez, kiddo, are you okay?" He met her at the top step, immediately inspecting one of her arms.
"I'm fine. Just had a little accident. Emma got me cleaned up, though; I was in good hands."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. A little banged up, but the leg is fine, and…at least the distance was good." It was a lame attempt at humor, but Stark paused to look at her, then gave a small smirk.
"Right, well, next time you try to teach yourself how to fly, just keep me in the loop." Then he sighed, placing his hands on his hips in mock disappointment. "And you went and had pie without me? What on Earth were you thinking?"
She smiled faintly. "Thinking way ahead of you actually," she handed him the small Styrofoam box she'd been carrying. "For you, from Emma."
His eyes actually lit up. "Please tell me that's Dutch apple."
"What else?"
And then he was beaming as he accepted the box. "Guess who's about to pay off their a good portion of their tuition again?" He mused in a sing-song manner, popping the lid to take in the sweet aroma. "Ahh. That's pure Dutch apple right there."
She smiled, ducking her eyes briefly, then frowned. "Aunt Laura?"
"Upstairs with Rebecca," he closed the lid. "We convinced her that her next round of medication was overdue, so she's a lot quieter than before you left."
She nodded, leaning back against the white wood of the porch railing. Small doses of lithium certainly did wonders whenever her stress levels peaked.
Coming to stand beside her, Stark draped an arm around her shoulders. "It wasn't my intention to cause problems for you today, and I'm sorry if our timing seemed lousy, but believe me when I say I was only doing what your grandmother instructed us to do. She said it would be best to break the news to Laura sooner rather than later, especially considering the reactions she's had to bad news in the past. Rebecca knows her daughter best; we're just following through with her last wishes."
"I know," she whispered, then sighed softly.
"In all honesty, Rebecca decided to leave you the house soon after you came to live with her." Kim looked at him, astonished. "It's true. If she'd left it to Laura, she knew it would only be a matter of time before things went sour, and you would be asked to leave. With everything that occurred with your family and during your rehabilitation process, Rebecca didn't want you to feel like you had to start all over again just because of a rough relationship with your aunt. Since day one, she could clearly see how much it meant to you to call this place home. That's why she chose to take steps to make sure you'd always be able to do so."
Her eyes squeezed shut, her heart aching at the bittersweet news. One of the greatest worries she'd had ever since her grandmother's illness became worse…she was doing everything possible to make sure she was taken care of even after her eventual death.
Grandma… "I still can't believe it."
"I know it'll take some getting used to, but hey, Kim Proctor: home owner? Has a nice ring to it."
She smiled faintly, taking a deep breath.
He squeezed her shoulder. "So only one question remains, Kim: do you want the chance to call this house your own?"
Though Mr. Wilkes had left hours ago, all that was left for Kim to do was sign on a few dotted lines, and it would be done. Stark, who acted as witness, translated some of the more complex legal jargon, which made her feel more confident when she put pen to paper.
"That's it," he said as she scrawled her last signature. "The house is as good as yours. Congratulations, Kimbo."
Kim leaned back in her chair, her left hand covering her right when she realized how badly it had been trembling. Hers. The house was truly hers. "Damn," she uttered.
Chuckling, he gathered the paperwork and stacked the pages neatly. "Quite a rush, isn't it?" He pushed away from the table, picking up his now empty Styrofoam container.
She gave him a sideways glance as he headed for the kitchen. Yes, quite the rush, she agreed. A place to call home. For her and for Bucky.
"It'll be a great first investment for you," he called from the kitchen, and she could hear the trashcan lid flip down. "And, you know, if you ever decide you want to make any special renovations to the house, I can recommend some contractors for you."
"Thanks," she said as he returned, "but I think I just want to get used to the idea of…being the owner of a house for a while."
He gave a nod, crossing over to her. "Understandable. Just know the offer is still there, should you ever change your mind." He held up the papers in his hand. "I'll make sure Justin gets this tomorrow, and once it's all processed, you should be getting a call from him."
"Okay," Kim replied, blowing out another breath to help steady herself. "Tony. For everything you've done for me—for us—and I mean everything…" She looked up at him, and though words nearly escaped her, she managed to get out, "Thank you."
He placed a hand beneath her chin. "You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for. Get some rest tonight, okay? You need to make sure to take care of yourself as well as your family."
Standing suddenly, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly as tears squeezed free yet again. He held her against his shoulder in return, which only amplified the heat that was surging beneath her chest. He'd been there for them through so much, and she never forget his kindness and compassion toward her through it all. Ever.
Pulling back, she wiped a tear away from her cheek and smiled sadly up at him.
He nudged her chin with his hand once more. "Call me tomorrow, okay? I want to hear how things are going here, especially if you need to get out for a bit."
Sniffing, she nodded. "Will do. Thanks, Tony."
She watched him as he let himself out, and after securing the deadbolt, Kim ascended the stairs and poked her head into her grandmother's room. Her chest tightened when she saw Aunt Laura seated in the chair beside Rebecca's bed, fast asleep with her head on her mother's lap. Kim sighed heavily. No matter how harsh her aunt could be at times, and no matter how much she'd hurt her earlier that day, seeing her like this reminded her that she was still a child grieving the inevitable loss of her mother. A feeling she knew all too well.
Without a word, she retrieved a thin blanket from the hallway closet, returning to Rebecca's room to lay it carefully across her aunt's back. On closer inspection, she could see the dark circles that had settled beneath the woman's eyes. She'd clearly been crying all day. She debated her next thought, but then reached out to place a hand very gently on her shoulder. Laura never even stirred. For a long moment, Kim stood there, trying to convey so much in that simple touch, from her fathomless sorrow to her unyielding support. She only hoped her aunt might be able to sense it subconsciously.
With a heavy heart, Kim left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.