Chapter 4: Surprises
Right before he reached her door, she began to stir. She tried to fight against him, but her movements were slow and uncoordinated. He could smell the alcohol on her as he set her on her feet. She was less than steady, swaying slightly as she tried to focus on his face.
"Are you okay?" he asked. She looked like she wanted to say something, but lost consciousness before she could get it out. He caught her before she hit the ground this time, and lowered her slowly to the floor so she would be safe while he picked her lock.
She was still unconscious as he laid her on the couch. Again, memories of another time were tickling the back of his mind. He took off her shoes and made sure the skirt of her dress was keeping her covered. Modesty was the word to come to mind this time, though it sounded almost humorous at this point. Her breaths were shallow, her face scrunched in subconscious pain. He felt something stir in him, something that used to be quite prevalent in his personality - the desire to help someone. But he didn't know what words to say, or what to do. In fact, his main objective at this point was to leave before she awoke again. He silently strode towards the door, intent on leaving her. She was safe in her apartment. She would be fine.
Drink your tea, dear. It'll help your stomach feel better. A voice echoed in his mind. He couldn't remember who said it to him. He stopped at the door, turning back. The neighbor girl had not moved. His training told him to leave, but the voice at the back of his mind had other ideas.
He turned the faucet to hot and lit the stove. He stared at the pantry for a moment, trying to decipher her organization system (there was none) before looking at the place where she would most likely keep tea. There were three different boxes of black tea, but that was not what he wanted. He sniffed the pantry, digging to the back to pull out a tattered box of peppermint. He removed one bag, tossing it on the counter. He filled the kettle with the now steaming water, placing it on the hot stove. He paused for a moment, waiting for the voice to tell him what came next. He knew the tea had something else in it, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what.
He opened door after door in her kitchen, staring at the contents and willing them to show what he needed. The clock in the back of his mind was ticking - it wouldn't be long now before she woke up. He needed to finish this and leave. He pulled the kettle from the stove before it could sing, turning the gas off. He found a mug in the cupboard, and put the tea bag in it before pouring hot water over it. He considered leaving things as they were, his training sending off alarms in his head. This was taking too long.
But he was tired of listening to his training. So he stood, and he breathed, and he tried to remember.
The honey is for the sickness. Did you know honey is a natural medicine? The nutmeg just makes you feel better.
Honey and nutmeg. He located them easily enough, and his hands seemed to remember the quantities needed, even if his brain did not. He was just stirring the contents together when he heard her shift on the couch. He stood still, weighing the different outcomes of this scenario. This was the closest he'd gotten to a panic in a long time.
He heard the sound of something hitting the floor, so he turned to look at her. She was sitting up now, looking confused and slightly sick. He tried to think of what a normal person would say in this situation.
"I'm sorry." is what he settled on. An odd choice, really, considering he had not spent the last few decades feeling very apologetic. Various questions passed through his mind - how are you feeling? Are you okay? Are you hurt? - but none of them felt right. He took the mug to her, setting it down on the coffee table, deciding silence was his best course of action. He made sure to maintain a respectable distance between the two of them.
"No need to apologize, not after you helped me." she said. Her eyes were unfocused, her pupils enlarged. She was concussed. She didn't heed her symptoms, choosing to stare at the bright screen of her phone. "I should be thanking you. You saved me."
He knew thank you was a proper response from her in this situation, but he was not prepared for how calm she was, and how casual. It occurred to him that she didn't know who he was - who he used to be.
"Don't mention it. I'm glad you're alright." he said stiffly. Training was kicking in again. He needed to leave. He figured that was a good place to end their conversation, and turned towards the door.
"No, wait!" she said. He stopped and turned to her. He was not expecting this from her. He waited for what he assumed was coming next - are you the guy from the TV? The one who tried to kill Captain America? "Stay, for a minute? If you don't mind? My friend is on her way, but I really don't want to be alone right now."
The request was the biggest surprise of the night. He tried to pull himself to the man he was before The War, before The Fall. She was trying to put up a brave face, but her eyes betrayed how afraid she was. "Sure." he said. Every part of him was telling him to leave, but he pushed the feelings down, instead taking a seat at her dining table.
"What's your name?" she asked. She thought it was a simple question. Bucky hesitated, running through his list of options. The museum had told him his name was James Buchanan Barnes, but that didn't feel right. But he didn't think she would respond well to him introducing himself as Soldier.
"Bucky." he said, finally settling. It still didn't feel right, but it was the name Steve gave him, and the best option he had.
"I'm Mika." she said. The name fit her very well. "Is there nutmeg in this?"
And honey, he thought, wondering about the voice in his head. He decided to keep that to himself. "To help with the hangover."
"I don't get hangovers." she replied, looking quite proud of herself. He perked an eyebrow - he didn't remember much from his past life, but he remembered hangovers. Given how much she seemed to have had tonight, he was surprised she wasn't vomiting.
"If you say so." he responded. She settled further into the couch, crossing her legs underneath her. She held her cup of tea as if it were her last source of warmth. She suddenly seemed very small, and fragile. Bucky kept that thought to himself as well. Even though he had barely communicated, he still felt like he was giving too much away.
"It's very good. Thank you." she said. He wanted to say you're welcome, but held his tongue. He simply gave her a nod. Her fingers danced around the cup; it was clear she was nervous. She should be nervous, he thought to himself. Even if she didn't seem to know who he was. "Hopefully it'll help me sober up a little bit. Or help with the bump on the head. For a second down there I think I started seeing things - like, your arm looked like it was made of metal. How insane is that? This is why I don't go out as often as my friends. Weird things happen." she rambled. Bucky was surprised for a second time. His training told him to stay silent, to not divulge his secrets. He decided to ignore that.
"You weren't seeing things." he told her. He made no other move, but rejoiced in his small rebellion.
"What?" she asked, her brows furrowing in confusion. Bucky hesitated. He had spent the last seventy years meticulously planning everything, but he had not accounted for this. He no longer had strategy for civilian life.
It felt like an hour before he made up his mind, slowly pulling off his glove. The metal was cool against his fingertips as he rolled up his sleeve. Her jaw actually dropped, her eyes wide in surprise. He didn't think he'd be nervous about her reaction, but he found his heart rate elevating. He gripped his knees, the metal plates shifting with the action. "Holy shit!" she said. She didn't look scared. In fact, she looked...intrigued? The corner of his mouth tilted up in a grin, an involuntary action. It was one of few smiles over the past few decades. Before he could say anything, her door burst open. Another girl stumbled in, looking slightly dishevelled. This must be the friend she was talking about. He immediately covered his arm again, pulling on the glove. The warning bells in his mind were screaming now. There were too many variables in this situation. Time to retreat.
The girls were talking, enraptured in their conversation. Now was the perfect time. He silently stood, crossing the space to the door in long strides.
"Wait, is this the situation?" the new woman asked. Bucky paused, their eyes on him. It made his muscles ache to hold himself back from knocking them out. The roots of his training ran deep.
"No, no. I'll tell you about it in a minute." Mika saved him, distracting the other girl. She looked to him. "Thank you again." she said, clearly giving him a way out. Bucky wanted to sprint out the door, but tried to think of a pleasantry to exchange first.
"Hope you feel better." he said. It was the only thing he could come up with. He didn't wait for her to respond, slipping out of her apartment and closing the door behind him. His body felt tingly and uncomfortable. He had not been prepared for any of that, and was not used to situations that he couldn't punch his way out of. He went back to his apartment, locking the three locks behind him. He stood there for a long time, trying to process what had just happened. After a while, he pulled off his layers, stripping down to a tshirt and his jeans. He eyed the light switch, but lit a candle, sitting on the floor in an effort to feel grounded.
He was having a difficult time adjusting to civilian life, even when he was able to avoid interaction with most people. But tonight was the first time he was able to see himself living outside of the assassin life, the first time it even seemed possible. He pulled his backpack to him, finding his notebook and pen inside it. The front page stared at him, asking him to write who the journal belonged to. He held the pen for a long time before carefully writing Bucky in blocky letters. He turned to the first page; it was clean and blank, waiting for him to decide what to add.
Honey is a natural medicine. Put in peppermint tea with nutmeg to help with head and stomach aches.
He tried to think of anything else that had come to him today. His time as the Soldier was still in his mind; the memories were dark and painful. He pushed them down, trying to lock them away so deep that he could forget them. He tried to think back to before, tried to hear the voice in the back of his head again. But nothing else came to him. He was left with a glaringly empty void where his memories should have been. With a frustrated sigh, he closed the journal and tossed it to the side. The panels of his arm slid into place as he balled his hand into a fist. He wanted to punch something, but knew he would easily break through the wall. He stared at his arm, angry at it. He wished he knew how to take it off. He was tired of looking at it. Tired of feeling it.
He couldn't punch the wall. Two led to the outside - the holes would compromise the security measures he had taken. One led to the hallway; he didn't need people to see into his apartment. The other shared with Mika's apartment. She didn't need that. He settled for grabbing the pillow off his mattress, holding it to his face until he felt like he was suffocating and then screaming. It didn't help much, but it was better than nothing. He screamed until he was out of breath, until his vision was swimming from the lack of oxygen. Only then did he blow out the candle and curl up in the sleeping bag, attempting to get some sleep.
Bucky woke up to the sound of the door across the hall closing and footsteps traveling down the stairs. He checked the time; it was shortly after six o'clock. He sat up, staring at the wall for a long time as he tried to piece himself together for the day.
My name is Bucky. I live in Bucharest. I work in the warehouse district. Today, I need to go to the grocery store. At the grocery store, I need to buy…
He went through the list in his head, noting everything he would need. But when he finished, it didn't feel real, so he started through the whole thing again. My name is Bucky. I live in Bucharest…
He went through it over and over, trying to solidify it in his mind. Other thoughts kept trying to intrude, but he pushed past them. When he was satisfied with how natural it felt, he got up, pulling on his sweatshirt and boots. He took the baseball cap off the counter, slipping it over his head. He was just pulling his gloves on when he heard someone walking up the stairwell, breathing hard. He silently moved to the door, watching through the peep hole as Mika stood at the top of the stairs. She looked like she had just been running, which surprised him. He figured she would have slept in today. His training told him to wait until she was in her apartment; with determination, he ignored it. He grabbed his bag, opening his door as she was going to unlock hers. She didn't turn - she hadn't heard him. He gently touched her shoulder, causing her to whirl around, surprise and fear painted on her face. That was an expression he expected.
She pulled buds out of her ears. He vaguely recognized them, something in his mind telling him that they were for music. "You scared me." she said, leaning against her wall.
"I'm sorry." he said. For once, it was not his goal to instill fear in someone.
"No, you're fine, you're good. I was just stuck in my own little world." she said. She held up the buds. He could hear music echoing from them, but it was not a song he recognized.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. This seemed like a proper conversation starter.
"Um, been better. But the tea really helped, thank you." she said after a moment. She was nervously fidgeting with the ear buds. But she didn't seem to be afraid of him exactly. "I really can't thank you enough. If you hadn't come along, I...I don't know what would have happened."
"You're welcome." he said. Yesterday he'd said don't mention it, but that hadn't felt right. This response felt better.
"I really want to repay you, in some way. Maybe I can make you dinner sometime? Or-" she seemed to change her mind mid-sentence. "Or maybe take you out somewhere? I know all the best food places around here."
"It's okay." he said. He heard someone moving downstairs, and carefully moved his eyes away from her and to the stairs. It was just the paper boy, dropping off the newspaper to the resident three floors below them.
"No, no, I insist. How about…" she paused, opening her door and looking into her apartment. He wondered what she was looking at. "How about breakfast? Have you eaten yet?"
Bucky was surprised again. He had assumed their relationship would be one of cordial acquaintances. He did not expect her to reach out in any way. Once again, his training was pulling him away from the interaction. "I haven't." he said, choosing to be honest instead of lie and retreat.
"Excellent. I know this great little cafe around the corner. You're gonna love it." she said. That sent alarm bells off in his head. He was happy enough just telling her the truth, he wasn't ready for prolonged time together. However, she cut him off before he could weasel his way out of it. "I'm gonna change real quick. Don't move, okay? Stay right here. Don't leave."
"Okay." he said. He planned to immediately leave once she was out of view.
"You look like you're gonna walk away as soon as I move out of eye sight. Don't do it." she said. He worked to keep the shocked look off his face. Maybe she was one of those mind readers?
He held up his hands, showing that he would actually listen to her. The muscles in his legs were wired, ready to run away. He clenched his fists to distract himself. Mika walked backwards into her apartment, keeping her eye on him. She moved around the door, but jumped back into view, checking to see if he was still there. He willed every muscle in his body not to move. She gave him a look that would have been comical if he wasn't having a small internal crisis, ducking back into her apartment. He stood in the exact same spot, fighting every urge to run. If he let any part of him move, he wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself from escaping.
She came jogging back into view, her clothes changed and her hair rearranged. He still wasn't used to how quickly women could change their hair in this time. She had her phone in her hand, as well as a purse. He watched her hand flick the lock on the inside of the doorknob, but didn't hear any jingling in her purse. He stuck his foot in the door, preventing it from closing all the way.
"What?" she asked. Again, she looked startled. He deflated a bit.
"Keys." he said softly. His heart hurt. He was tired of people looking at him in fear.
"Right. Thank you." she said after a moment, turning back and grabbing the keys off her kitchen counter. He took a deep breath, willing himself to act normal. Just normal Bucky. Not the Soldier.
They were silent as they walked down the stairs. Every step he took felt like going further and further away from home base. These were uncharted waters. Meanwhile, Mika seemed perfectly at ease. Wisps around her face danced in the light breeze, the early morning sun making her skin glow. He could see shadows under her eyes, and wondered how much she slept the night before. She turned, giving him a smile before leading him into the small shop.
His senses were bombarded as soon as they entered. The air was thick with the smell of sugar and yeast, the sharp coffee scent cutting through periodically. Brightly colored pastries blinded him. Mika looked like she was in heaven, surrounded by her sweet treats and sweet people. She admired the cinnamon buns coming out of the oven, immediately requesting one with a cappuccino. He turned away, trying to ignore the stares of her and the cafe owner as he looked at the few savory options. The sugar was suffocating him. He pointed to a pastry that he thought originated in Georgia, adding a coffee to his order. He remembered liking coffee, though he couldn't remember what it tasted like.
"You're not going to get a cinnamon bun? Look how beautiful they are!" Mika admonished him. He shrugged.
"Not big on sweets." he responded. He felt like his throat was coated in sugar.
"Not big on sweets?!" she exclaimed. She seemed offended, while the cafe owner seemed confused. She complimented his choice, trying to play peace keeper. Bucky shrugged again, not knowing how else to respond. Mika shook her head, handing a bill to the other woman before leading them outside. This eased the tension between his shoulders a bit. If they were outside, they could make a quick getaway. He sat with his back to the cafe wall, keeping the street in view. There were still very few people out, which made surveillance easier.
"Wait," she said as they sat, her face looking like she had just solved a mystery. "if you don't like sweets, what did you do with the cake I left you?"
"So that was you?" Bucky asked. He was almost sure it had been her, but this confirmed it.
"Who else would leave cake except for a new neighbor?" she asked. The idea seemed familiar, and he thought perhaps in his previous life bringing cake to a neighbor was a common practice. He held onto the thought, hoping he could remember it to write down later.
"Would you eat cake that a stranger left at your front door?" he asked, finally picking up the cup of coffee and taking a sip. The bitter warmth soaked into him, a delightfully familiar feeling. Whatever he thought it tasted like, this was better.
"Honestly, probably." Mika said nonchalantly. He was alarmed internally, but kept his face stoic. He took a quick glance around, just in case anything gave him away. "But back to the bigger problem at hand. Not any sweets? Ever?"
He didn't know how to answer. He couldn't remember the last time he ate something sweet. "I think I used to. They just aren't appealing anymore." he said finally.
"We'll find one." she said definitively, picking up her breakfast and peeling off a bite. He looked at her for a moment, trying to figure out if she was serious. Her statement implied that she wanted to spend more time with him, but he couldn't imagine that. Perhaps she was just being polite? She must just be polite. He decided to change the topic. He ran through various questions in his head, but all of them seemed too personal. He didn't want to have to answer them in turn.
"How long have you lived in Bucharest?" he asked. A good, safe question.
"Almost four years now. I moved here for work. Of course, then the company I work for went global and allows me to work from home whenever I want. How about you?" she said, finally moving on from her food to her coffee.
"I'd never been here before. Needed a change of scenery." he said. It didn't exactly answer her question, but he assumed that she would fill in the blanks.
"Bold move. Where are you from? England? Canada?" she followed up. This startled him more than anything so far. He ran through their past interactions, but couldn't think of a time that he gave anything away. He had never spoken to her in English, only Romanian. And he spoke perfect Romanian.
"What makes you think I'm not from here?" he asked quietly. His heart was hammering. He must have made a mistake. And mistakes meant consequences. He took another gulp of coffee, the heat serving to calm him a bit.
"The Force is strong with me." she said. Her tone made it obvious that she was referencing something, but he had no idea what it was. She waited for him to react, sighing when he didn't. "Star Wars? No?"
He had heard of the Star Wars. "Never seen it." he said, shrugging casually even though he was still halfway into panic mode on the inside. He still wanted to know what mistake he made.
"Reference wasted then. We'll fix that someday. Anyway, it's cause your accent is very proper. I see that a lot in native English speakers that know multiple languages." she said casually. He didn't detect any tells; she seemed to be telling the truth. He was still on edge. He went to take another gulp of coffee, but was disappointed to find the cup empty.
"America. New York." he said finally. The museum told him that he was from Brooklyn, just like Steve.
"Oh I love New York!" she said. He was surprised, not expecting her to have been to America at all. The surprise helped distract him from the low level panic. "I went there on holiday, once, when I was at university. Everything was so bright and loud and busy, it was amazing. Do you go back often?"
"No." he said shortly. If he never went back to New York, it would be too soon. Her smile fell, and she looked down at the cup of coffee in her hands. He felt a stir of something in his chest, something he had not experienced in a long time. Remorse? Embarrassment? He couldn't tell. Either way, he did not like the face she was making, as if someone had taken her cinnamon bun before she could eat it.
"Well you'll find things a lot quieter here. The food is just as good, though. And the people much nicer." she said, giving him a small smile. He wondered what she was thinking. She seemed to wear her emotions on her sleeve, which made her either tremendously transparent or the best actress he'd ever encountered. Either way, he was on edge.
She put her cup down, grabbing her purse. "Anyway, thank you again, for last night. And thank you for joining me for breakfast. I know you probably have things to do today so-"
"You haven't finished your coffee." he interrupted. He realized how straight he was sitting, how it probably seemed like he did not like what was going on. Even though trying to wade through conversation and emotion like a normal person was immensely stressful, he didn't want it to end. This episode seemed so incredibly and perfectly normal. He wanted to hold on to it.
"It's fine, I can always make more at home. I don't want to keep you from the rest of your morning." she said. She didn't look nervous, as he expected. She looked...disappointed? Chagrined?
The boy from the cafe came out then, pouring more coffee into his cup. He gave him a polite smile, but also wondered if he was a mind reader too.
"But now I haven't finished mine either." he said. He took another sip, feeling the closest thing to happiness that he'd felt since Before.
"Well, we can't have that." she said. She seemed alright with the turn in events. He nodded, taking another cursory glance of the street. There was a woman sitting on the curb that hadn't been there before, but she was smoking a cigarette while staring at her phone. Low level threat. He turned back to Mika.
"Are you feeling better? After last night?" he asked. Halfway through the question, he realized he had already asked her earlier if she was feeling better, but it was too late to stop.
"A little bit of a headache, a little sore, but nothing terrible. I told you, I don't get hangovers." she said, tossing her hair dramatically.
He felt something in his chest, almost like a laugh was building. The feeling wasn't familiar to him anymore. He gave her a ghost of a grin. "Or maybe it was the tea." he said.
"Agree to disagree. I tried to recreate it, later. But it didn't work." she said. She had a look on her face like she was trying to solve a complicated math problem.
He had a moment, where he almost felt like the man he used to be. "You were missing the magic touch." he said, moving his prosthetic fingers. He looked at her from under the bill of his baseball cap. Her face was blank for a moment before breaking into a wide smile.
"Was that...a joke?" she asked. Bucky felt oddly satisfied with himself. "Be still my heart."
"They are few and far between, but I've still got some." he said. The moment had passed. He was glad they could be distracted by her phone going off in her purse. She silenced it quickly.
"Did you need to get that?" he asked, taking a drink of his coffee. The cup was empty again.
"No, it's just Elena. She's probably just wondering where I am." she said. The phone was buzzing again, but she silenced it.
"If your friend is concerned, you should answer." he said. He was quickly reaching his limit of social ability. More people were out on the streets. He wanted to get his groceries and get back to the apartment.
"She's just dramatic." Mika replied. The phone buzzed again.
"Well, we've both finished our coffee. And it looks like your friend really wants to talk to you." he said. His muscles were starting to tingle again. He enjoyed this time feeling almost like a person, but he was reaching his end.
"Yes, well, thank you, again. For last night. You are literally a life saver." she said. She looked very sincere. The phone continued to buzz, try as she might to silence it.
"I'm happy to see you're feeling better. I'll see you around." he said, taking the lead and standing up. She looked down, going to find something in her purse. He took the opportunity, turning and walking towards the corner store. More people were around, and he didn't like it. He heard her start to say something else, but he was too far away to understand what she was saying.
He ducked into the store, keeping his eyes low as he wandered through the aisles. He felt a tinge of something as he thought about just leaving Mika out there with minimal goodbyes, but that feeling was far outweighed by his relief at the silence. Even if Mika was the most genuinely nice person he'd met since 1945, he was still learning how to be a person again. It would take time before he had all his pieces back together, before he could be an actual friend to her. Or to anyone.
He paid for his groceries, giving the clerk a small, polite smile. It came easier now, easier than it did before.
One piece back in its place.