Chapter 8: Open the Gates
There weren't many times that Bucky found himself happy with his enhancements. In fact, he could probably count those moments on the one human hand he had left. Most days, he woke up hating his vibranium arm, and wondering how badly it would hurt to rip it off. His enhanced senses often overwhelmed him so much that his entire brain felt it was on fire. Any sudden movements around him made his muscles ache to neutralize the threat.
But some days, when cargo falls on him and snaps both bones in his forearm, he doesn't mind the advanced regeneration. He has to take care to reset the break before his coworkers find him, as he doesn't want to bring any more attention to himself than necessary. There was a fair bit of pain as he moved his fingers for the other men, but he kept his face neutral. He made a point to finish his shift, though he did have to set and reset his radius and ulna multiple times over the course of the night. By the time he was walking home, he felt the bones knitting back together, and the incessant pain had reduced to a sharp ache. He didn't mind the pain; it gave him something to focus on besides his thoughts. Any distraction was a welcome distraction to him.
He didn't expect to see anyone on his walk home, but was perplexed by someone pacing in front of his apartment building. He was immediately on edge, his muscles straining against the still-healing bones as his fists clenched. The anxiety diminished as he recognized his neighbor, and instead he experienced something he hadn't felt in a long time - vague annoyance. Mika was resting her hands on her knees, and obviously had just finished running. A couple snarky comments half-formed in his mind, but he was unable to settle on one before she stood upright, catching sight of him standing there.
"You're a damn ninja, you know that?" she exclaimed. He almost smiled at the insinuation - he'd been called many things over the years, but ninja was not one of them. He suppressed the grin, remembering that he was exacerbated by her currently.
"You went by yourself." he said. Clearly she did not see the riskiness of her behavior.
"Well yes, I couldn't very well wait for you to suddenly appear." she said. She was pacing, trying to keep warm in the cold night air. She moved to the door of the building without looking back, and he assumed he was supposed to follow her. Her tone suggested that she was aiming for casual conversation. He opened the door for her as she scanned it to unlock, his right arm still hanging as he tried to let the bones finish healing.
"I could have gone with you." he said, though he was unsure the logistics of how that would work. She had no way to contact him, and maintained a relatively irregular schedule. His own hours were variable as well.
"And I would appreciate that. But I know you're very busy, and contrary to popular belief, I can actually take care of myself pretty well." she said. She was turned and grinned at him, but he didn't see the joke. She seemed to have more muscular strength than most women he'd seen since rejoining civilian life (and certainly more muscular strength than most women he'd known before The Fall), but the instincts she'd displayed a few weeks ago had not been reassuring. Even now, as she'd turned to look at him, her foot had trembled precariously on the edge of the stair. He put his right hand on the handrail behind her, ignoring the complaints of his broken bones in the case that she lost her balance.
"It's not safe. You could have gotten hurt." he reiterated. He was hoping to convince her to find other avenues of fitness, but he was having difficulty splitting his attention between and the grinding of his fractures. He'd never quite gotten used to the feeling of his body regenerating at intense rates. Healing time was certainly decreased, but the heightened inflammation and rebuilding responses were very uncomfortable. He'd learned early on that the Soldier didn't feel pain, he made the Man deal with it.
"I promise you, I actually have some self preservation skills when I'm not impaired by alcohol." she said. He noticed she was short of breath, fatigued between her run and having to traverse the stairs. He thought to comment on it, but did not think it would make a convincing point. His mind whirred in circles trying to come up with another argument, but at his core he didn't understand why she couldn't see the merit in the one he had already offered. His arm cramped, making him feel annoyed again.
"Still not safe." he said, trying to be more emphatic. He didn't understand why she looked triumphant as they finally reached the top of the stairs and went their separate ways. Clearly she missed his point by a long shot.
He pushed the interaction to another part of his mind, deciding that a solution would not be found tonight. Instead he focused on his nightly routine, rinsing off in the shower before dressing in clean clothes and neatly folding the dirty ones. The dirty clothes went on top of the stack, and he grabbed his journal and pen before crawling into his sleeping bag. He thumbed through until he found the last written page, the pen poised over the paper for a moment as he went step by step through his day.
Hail a taxi by waving.
Radio shows were good entertainment. War of the Worlds was the best.
Women used to paint lines on the back of their legs (not sure why).
There was still an ache in his forearm as he wrote, but it was dwindling quickly. Today had been a good day, with three random tidbits of his past coming back to him. They were the only pieces of his puzzle that had reappeared in the last few days, whereas over a week ago he was getting multiple pieces a day. He didn't understand how it worked - he knew, logically, that he had suffered immense brain damage, and that the only reason he wasn't comatose was the artificial regeneration the scientists equipped him with. But he didn't know why sometimes more things came back to him, and sometimes he couldn't bring back anything at all. Sometimes things were related to the situation he was in. Sometimes, they just appeared at random.
He didn't want to think too hard about it, so he shut the journal and went to sleep. The sun would be up in a few hours, and so would he.
The next night, his arm had completely knit itself back to normal, and his boss seemed mildly glad that he returned to work seemingly injury free. The kind of help that Bucky gave - lower in wage and benefit free - was not easy to come by, and he would not have been easy to replace. If he'd been seriously injured, Bucky had no doubt that the job would be lost.
The next night, Bucky once again asked his boss if he could simply take his pay home with him at the end of the shift. This was the only interaction that ever took place between the two of them, and it took place every other week. Olaf shook his head "no," not offering any explanation. It confused Bucky to no end - he assumed he was working under the table for this man, yet he had to collect his wages as if he were a normal employee. The other men had checks with their names on it, made out neatly in print. Olaf was agreeable enough to pay Bucky straight in cash, which was relatively unusual. So he did his job with no further questions, and waited until the next day to fetch his money.
He always waited until after the lunch hour to make the trip. That's when the streets were quietest and people were least likely to pay attention. He slipped his baseball cap on, pulling it low over his eyes and making his way back to the warehouse district. The day shift workers were out on the floor, and the secretary was out back for her afternoon smoke break. It was easy for Bucky to go in, grab the envelope labelled J. Jones, sign off on the sheet, and leave before anyone was any wiser. He figured he was home free, walking through the nearly empty streets of Bucharest, when he spotted a familiar person walking ahead of him. There was still time to escape, Mika hadn't spotted him yet. His training pulled at his bones, trying to pull him to the safety of solitude and shadows. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and purposefully kept putting one foot in front of the other.
"Well, look who's out during the day time." she said. He wasn't positive she would stop him to say hello, but figured there was a high percentage chance.
"It happens occasionally." he said, stopping his forward progress. Her tone and statement implied she was aiming for short, casual conversation, not just passing pleasantries.
"You out running errands?" she asked. Suspicion simmered in his chest, but he remembered that she was just Mika, his kind neighbor who had no signs of sinister intentions.
"Had to go in to work." he explained succinctly. Just because he was ninety-two percent sure she was not an agent of Hydra didn't mean he needed to show all his cards.
"I thought you worked nights?" she asked. This surprised him, and once again he wondered if she had mind reading powers. Realistically, he figured she just noticed him leaving in the evenings and coming home in the early hours of the morning. Given how irregular her schedule was, it was the likely conclusion to come to.
"Yes. But I have to pick up my check during normal business hours." he said. He tried not to let any bitterness slip in to his response. He would still try to pick it up overnight two weeks from now.
"Oh. Well yea, I guess money is a good reason for you to leave the Bat Cave." she said. Once again, she spoke in a way that implied a reference, but he did not understand it. His confusion must have shown on his face, because she followed up with, "Really? Batman is a pretty big deal."
"Don't know it." he said. He had a vague inkling of it - he thought he'd heard the name before, maybe - but couldn't remember any details. He couldn't even picture it.
"Add it to the list I guess." she said. This perplexed him. Once again, she referred to them spending time together like it wasn't anything to question. "What are you up to right now? Want to join me for a quick lunch?"
Her question surprised him, derailing his train of thought. He had been prepared for a short interaction. Once again, his training nagged at the back of his mind, telling him to retreat. "Oh, I don't…" think so, is what he wanted to say, but he stopped himself. Normal civilians went to lunch when invited. Normal civilians did not consider lunch to be a tactical risk.
"Half an hour or less, I promise. I have a call at three o'clock I have to be back for." Mika said, her eyes wide and pleading. That was an oddly precise and reassuring statement, and he wondered for the hundredth time if she could read minds. Based on the look she was giving him, she just wanted someone to share a meal with her. Dare he say, a friend. It had been a long time since he'd had a friend. Or been one. He didn't know if he remembered how.
"Okay." he agreed. He may not remember much about civilian relationships, but generally being agreeable was acceptable.
"Excellent. The place around the corner has a great lunch special, you'll love it." she said, walking past him with a bright smile. He turned and followed her, catching up in a couple long strides. A breeze rolled by them; he didn't think anything of it, but it must have given Mika a chill. She shivered slightly, but then surprised him again by reaching for his arm. It was such a nonchalant move that he didn't think she even registered it. Her touch was so light, it didn't even register with the artificial neurosensory systems grafted into the plates. He was so completely thrown by the gesture, so gentle and human, that he couldn't stop himself from pulling away from her. The realization of the movement registered on her face, and her cheeks suddenly matched the red of her jacket. Bucky, for the first time in a while, felt what he thought was remorse.
"Sorry, it's…" he didn't know what he was trying to say this time. His skin itched and throbbed where his prosthetic met his chest, and the metal plates clicked as he balled his fist in his jacket pocket. He felt the burning warmth of shame bloom across his chest, and he looked down at the ground instead of at Mika.
"Nothing to be sorry for. That was my bad." she said. She was didn't seem bothered, as if the moment hadn't been weird or awkward for her. He wondered how she could be so easy going, when he felt like every moment he spent with her was unpredictable. He returned his eyes to the ground, and tried to get his pulse to slow and his mind to quit running in circles. Drop him in a den of assassins? No problem. Going to lunch like a normal person? He was at a loss.
Mika led him to a small restaurant, brightly decorated with flags and a door propped open to show the inside. He broke away from her, claiming one of the outdoor tables. She paused as he sat down, quirking an eyebrow at him. She waved to someone inside, then joined him at the small wire table outside. He leaned his back against the wall of the building, not minding the sun on his face and the light breeze dancing around them. Mika sat across from him, pulling a leg up on the chair. She seemed to be cold, but didn't say anything about it.
Their waitress arrived moments later, her blue eyes sparkling as she introduced herself and told them about the specials. Bucky was distracted though. Something about the way she smiled, and the way her dark ponytail moved. She'd said her name was Rebecca, which made the back of his brain buzz with a memory that wasn't there.
"Do you always sit outside?" Mika asked, once again bringing him back to the present.
"I like space." he said, shrugging. It wasn't necessarily a lie - he did prefer the openness, as opposed to the dark walls of his apartment - but he didn't feel the need to say that it was for quick exit strategies. He realized that she could misconstrue his words to mean he was more upset about the earlier episode than he let on, when he really wasn't. His brain whirred as he came up with something to add to make it better. "I spend most of the time indoors." is what he settled on.
"Fair. That's why I don't like the winter, there only seems to be a couple hours of daylight before it gets dark again." she said. She didn't notice him flinch at the word winter, but luckily the waitress returned with their drinks before he could get caught up in his own head. The girl eyed him as they thanked her, and he gazed back. She smiled warmly, pink coloring her cheeks. So help him, she reminded him of someone. But he couldn't place it. She went inside for her notepad, and returned for their order. She'd put something on her lips to make them shiny, which was curious to him. They gave their order without incident, though the waitress did seem to wink at him before going inside. He wasn't positive if the wink was purposeful. They were not conspirators. Also, it was no longer 1940, and he imagined conspirators didn't wink at each other anymore. He didn't understand this interaction. He looked to Mika, who was grinning as if she had a secret.
"What?" he asked cautiously. For some reason, that grin made him nervous. He couldn't read anything in her body language, or in the context of their conversation that would make her react like that.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked. Bucky was so stunned, he didn't answer for a moment. Him? A girlfriend? The very idea was preposterous.
"No." he said. He'd had girlfriends in the past, he knew. Back when he was a normal man. Before the Army, before everything. But the idea of anyone caring for him in a romantic way at this point was ludicrous.
"I'm just curious." Mika said, holding up her hands in a mock surrender. "I think our waitress is being extra friendly to you. And you seem to be a little interested as well."
Her analysis seemed fair, though incorrect. "She just...reminds me of someone. I just can't remember who." he explained. His words were soft, uncertain.
"Oh." she said. Once again, Bucky was good at halting conversation. The breeze came through, which felt good to him. He noticed Mika shiver, and the skin of her neck mottled with goose flesh. She didn't say anything, but she held her cup of tea as if it were her last source of life.
"You're cold." he said. It was an obvious statement, and he wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to say.
"No, I'm fine. The breeze just hit me just right." she said, shrugging one shoulder. The movement wasn't as smooth as she thought it was. Bucky had bits of memories appearing - women with elaborately curled hair, Army-issued jacket around their shoulders. They had their arms around his, not unlike how Mika moved earlier. He turned back to her, pulling off his outermost layer and putting it on her lap.
"Here. Take this." he said. He wasn't quite as smooth as he was in 1940.
"And what about you?" she asked. He shook his head, pushing back memories he didn't care to think of at that moment.
"This isn't bad. I've sat in much worse." he explained. He'd lost a few toes to frostbite once - but they'd grown back.
"Cryptic." she said, accepting his odd answer. "Alright, well...thank you." She put her tea down and picked up the jacket, slipping her arms into the sleeves. She was practically swimming in it, it was so big for her. The word cute passed through his mind, but it felt weird. He looked away from her, checking for any movement around them. The streets were still relatively empty, the only new addition to the scenery being a shopkeeper down the street, sitting on the front step smoking a cigarette.
"Do you like your job?" Mika asked, breaking the silence. He looked back to her, noticing how she looked younger with his giant jacket surrounding her. Her question didn't surprise him, but it wasn't one he'd thought about before.
"I think so. Keeps me occupied." he said. That was the truth. He wanted to work nights, and he wanted manual labor, so that maybe he could sleep without waking up from terrible nightmares. Well, he wasn't sure if they were nightmares or memories from the Soldier. Flashes of gunshots passed through his mind, but he shook them away. He had to stay focused on the conversation. "And it pays the bills."
"Yea, paying the bills is usually a good idea." she said, grinning at her own light sarcasm. He felt the corner of his mouth pull into a grin before he could stop it.
"Do you like yours?" he asked. He knew that it was polite to return questions in kind. It had been decades since he'd had actual conversations, but the practice was coming back to him.
"It's alright." she said with a shrug. "It challenges me a lot, mentally. But sometimes I get tired of being at a computer all day."
She did seem like someone who liked to move around a lot. Even now, during their lunch, she'd changed positions four times, though Bucky didn't think she noticed she was doing it. "So you run." he said, putting two and two together.
"Exactly. I've never been good at sitting still for long periods of time." she answered, sounding like he'd answered a tough question correctly on a test. "I used to be quite the athlete, back in the day. Played anything they would let me - football, basketball, rugby, you name it. Not so much anymore."
The sports seemed familiar, but didn't seem to fit in this context, particularly football. He remembered football. He had visions of men in leather helmets, fighting in mud. He'd always wanted to play it, but never did. He couldn't afford the equipment, and Steve couldn't play because of asthma. He paused for a moment, committing that to memory before coming back to Mika.
"Football...with the helmets?" he asked, finally remembering his original question. She tilted her head to the side, confused. Her face changed as she understood his question.
"Oh, no. Football of the European variety." she said, which made it Bucky's turn again to be confused. "Soccer?" she added, her accent thick as she spoke in English.
"Oh." he said. He knew some about soccer, but it hadn't been very popular. Again, his mind was buzzing with a memory - it had the same oblong ball as American football, but there were no helmets. The men didn't move the same way. This memory wasn't on a field in New York - this memory was somewhere in the wilderness of Europe, with the Army. Steve wasn't there. "But there's other forms of football?" He was hoping she could fill in the blanks for him. He didn't know if this game was still around, but it was worth a shot.
"Yes, like Americans have it with the helmets." she said. "There's also a Gaelic version. And Australian."
"Australian…" this seemed familiar. He remembered someone with a different accent, someone they'd picked up along the way. He wasn't with the Army, he just didn't leave. He was the one who taught them the game. "Footie." he finally said, finally remembering what the man called it, though he couldn't remember his face or name.
"I think that's what they call it, yea." she agreed. He felt elated - this was one of the clearest, most detailed memories he'd had in awhile.
"I played that, one time. When I was younger." he said. He remembered the rough leather of the ball, how the mud made it difficult to hold on to. It was supposed to touch the ground every ten steps, but it didn't bounce in the wetness. He remembered tackling his buddies, the mud making their landing softer. It was one of the few good memories from his Army days.
"And how did you find it?" she asked. Her eyes were curious.
"Fun, I think." he said. They hadn't been very good at the game - after all, they didn't know most of the rules - but it was a welcome distraction from the War. He tried to think back, before then. He knew he'd been athletic, seeing as Hydra needed that foundation for their experience. Different pieces appeared, but he couldn't hold on to them. There were only two that stuck well enough to note. "I mainly did baseball. And boxing."
"Boxing? Like Rocky?" she asked, seemingly impressed. Bucky's mind was once again sent into overdrive as he tried to understand her comment, but he was unfamiliar with this Rocky. Mika let out a sigh as she realized his confusion. "Seriously? No Rocky? That film is iconic."
So Rocky was a film, then. He didn't think it wise to tell her he hadn't seen a movie since 1939. "I can't tell you the last time I saw a movie." he said instead, shrugging. They didn't seem to interest him now. Not much did.
"Well someday soon, I'll introduce you to the magic of the cinema. Your film reference knowledge is tragic." she said. He tried to tell her not to bother, that most of his modern reference knowledge was going to be tragic, as she said, but was interrupted by the waitress, returning with their order. She was smiling a lot, trying to make conversation with him. He didn't understand; did she recognize him too, maybe? But if she felt that familiar with him, then wouldn't she have mentioned it? His name, or the situation in which they'd met? The entire thing was confusing. Between deciphering this and maintaining proper conversation protocols with Mika, his brain was hurting. Mika had that same grin on her face as before, but she didn't say anything this time.
"So what is your favorite movie?" she asked. She didn't realize he only had about five options. He thought carefully, trying to get the name to come back to him. He could picture the girl, and the dog, and then someone green-
"Wizard of Oz." he whispered. He hadn't thought of it in years. He didn't know how he was able to bring the name back, but he was glad for it. He could think of brief flickers of the other few movies he'd seen, but not enough to make any sense of them.
"Really?" she asked, surprised. "Not what I was expecting. A good choice, though."
He remembered Wizard of Oz because it was the first movie that wasn't completely in black and white. He could still hear the munchkin's song as Dorothy woke up in the brilliant Oz, the way the ruby slippers sparkled on the screen. He remembered taking Steve and a couple of girls they'd met, going opening night. The memory brought a smile to his face. "The first time I saw it, the colors...they were incredible. Never seen anything like it."
"Who was your favorite? My sisters loved the Scarecrow, but I was always partial to the Lion myself." Mika said. He knew she once again didn't realize the event she'd witnessed, but he didn't fault her for it. He'd spent so long being a pawn of Hydra, being scrutinized and bare and vulnerable, that he wanted to keep these things to himself. He wanted to figure out who he was again.
"Had a thing for Dorothy." he replied. He could picture the actress's face, but he couldn't remember her name, or even what she sounded like. Her companions materialized in his mind's eye, and he saw an opportunity. "Though maybe now I should switch it to the Tin Man."
Mika laughed, which made him feel a weird sense of pride. Maybe, just maybe, he was figuring out how to be a person again.
"Well yes, you need to support your brethren." she said, as if this transition were an obvious choice. He grinned, but faltered for a moment. Brothers, that's what they'd called each other in the Army. The Howling Commandos - those had been his brothers, before he fell. Before Hydra took him.
He shook his head, clenching his fist under the table so hard his nails dug into the palm of his hand. The pain helped distract him, and keep the memories at bay. Some memories he was happy to reclaim; others, he wanted to leave buried in the dark depths of his damaged mind.
"And you?" he asked. Continue the conversation. Find another stimulus to focus on.
"Me what?" she asked. Seemed she was as easily distracted as he was. He almost forgot exactly what he meant by his question.
"Your favorite." he said. He didn't specify her favorite what.
"Oh, right, duh." she said, rolling her eyes at herself. He didn't understand her expression, but figured it was a modern colloquialism. "It varies, but I always seem to come back to Pride and Prejudice."
Bucky was confused. He could have sworn they were talking about films, but he distinctly remembered Pride and Prejudice being a book. He remembered seeing the pages, held by a woman with a gloved hand. He could picture the cover, framed by a picnic blanket.
"Isn't that...a book?" he asked. He hoped the conversation hadn't turned while he'd been distracted by the onslaught of memories he was having today. His head hurt.
"Well, yes, but they made a movie of it. More than one, actually." Mika explained. Bucky was so relieved that he hadn't missed a change in conversation, that he didn't actually care about her answer. It shouldn't surprise him, anyway - he remembered when Gone With The Wind became a film.
"Hmph." he said, shrugging. Seemed some things were still in style, even since 1940.
"That's it?" she asked. She seemed shocked or agitated, he couldn't tell. He tilted his head to the side. He didn't think that her statement required any more of a response. He had neither read the book nor seen the film, he couldn't offer any commentary on it.
"What?" he asked, genuinely curious as to her change in emotion.
"I just gave you earth shattering knowledge. I told you that a book you know has been made to a full length feature film, and that the adaptation is good, and all you say is, 'hmph'?" she exclaimed. Her eyes were wide, her voice impassioned in defense of Pride and Prejudice. He couldn't help but grin, the whole situation was so unlike anything he'd experienced in recent memory.
"Never said I read it." he replied. He distinctly remembered not reading it at the time. Mika's mouth actually fell open slightly, and for a moment she was stunned into silence.
"Didn't say you -" she couldn't finish her sentence at first, her mouth moving as she tried to come up with what she wanted to say. She shook her head and blinked her eyes a few times, as if trying to clear her vision. "Is that...two jokes? In one day?"
Bucky felt very satisfied with himself. He didn't give her an answer, instead leaning back against the wall and checking the area around them. The shopkeeper down the street had finished his cigarette and returned inside. An older woman slowly moved down the street, walking her equally as old dog. The waitress returned to collect their dishes, idly chatting with them. Bucky thought she was much more talkative than the people who worked at the cafe around the corner from the apartment, which were the only other waitstaff he had interacted with. He put a polite smile on his face, his brain working overdrive to think of proper responses for this type of social interaction. This was easier - general civility, small smiles, please and thank you. This he could handle. He handed her cash - the only way he paid for anything - and instructed her to keep the change. The waitress was giving him an odd look he couldn't decipher; he smiled in response, not knowing what else to do.
The silence was welcome when she left. He was using parts of his brain that didn't get exercised very often, and he was very quickly fatiguing. He sat diligently, waiting for the waitress to return with Mika's credit card. He assumed, based on social norms he'd witnessed, that they would walk back to the apartment together. The waitress had seemed flushed, and Bucky wondered if it was warm inside the restaurant. Mika's cheeks were pale with the cold. Maybe, if there was a next time, he could try to sit inside. Maybe. Maybe.
The waitress returned, looking flushed and nervous. It wasn't the same nervous that people usually had when they looked at him, so he assumed it was a character trait. She handed the receipts to them, hurrying back in with barely a farewell. Bucky looked down at his receipt, noticing curling numbers written in thick black ink on the bottom of it. This confused him, as the numbers had nothing to do with his total. He'd paid in cash, there should be no necessary additions to the paper. Was it a code?
"Did she charge you incorrectly?" Mika asked, interrupting his thoughts. He must have been staring at the paper too long. He shook his head, deciding that the numbers must be for some sort of record keeping purposes. He placed it on the table, going to fold it so he could carefully store it with his other receipts. "Bucky! She gave you her number!" Mika added, sounding excited.
"So?" Bucky asked, putting the receipt in his pocket and standing up. That's when he figured out the numbers must be her phone number. What an odd thing to give to a stranger. He started walking back to their apartment, assuming Mika would follow him. She jogged to keep up with him, letting out a noise of exclamation.
"'So'? She was cute! You should call her." she said. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, trying to see if she was serious. It appeared that she was.
"Can't." he said. Even if he had the emotional or social capacity, he was not about to phone a girl from a telephone booth.
"What do you mean you can't?" she asked. She seemed slightly offended. "You said you didn't have a girlfriend. Oh! Unless you have a boyfriend?"
"No." he said. It amazed him that she thought he had the capacity for romancing either gender. But that was neither here nor there, he had another viable reason. "Don't have a phone." he said, continuing towards their building. He noticed Mika fell behind, but took a second to realize she had pulled to a complete stop. He turned back, wondering if she had suddenly been injured without warning. His eyes scanned the higher areas, looking for possible sniper positions. He finally settled back on Mika, who was staring at him in shock again.
"How do you - what do you mean you - no phone?! How do you get anything done?!" she exclaimed, as if the very idea were impossible.
"Just do." he said. She seemed very flustered. For some reason, he found this amusing.
"Honestly, I don't even know why I'm surprised." she rambled, her hands on her hips. She looked like she was scolding him. "No wonder you haven't seen Batman or Rocky. Have you even heard of Netflix?"
He had no idea what she was talking about. "No. Is it for fishing?" Nets were still used for fishing, as far as he knew. The Soldier had to cut himself out of one once.
"What on earth am I going to do with you?" she asked, exasperated. She seemed to be talking to herself more than him. She put her hands in the pockets of his jacket, shaking her head as she started walking again. Bucky turned as she passed him, easily falling into stride with her. "You have so much we need to catch up on. It's a tragedy."
"I've been out of it for a while." he explained. That was the furthest into an explanation he was going to go, but it was one nonetheless. Mika's demeanor changed, though he didn't understand why.
"Don't worry, I'll fill you in." she said, before he could comment. They walked the rest of the way in silence, climbing the never ending staircase to the top floor. Mika pulled his jacket off, handing it back to him before he got to his door. He'd assumed she'd keep it longer, until she felt warmer.
"Thanks." he said, taking it slowly from her. Her hand was warm as his brushed it, and he supposed she had returned to a comfortable temperature.
"No, thank you. I definitely didn't prepare for the elements." she said, giving him a wide smile. He let one corner of his mouth raise in a grin, giving her a nod before going towards his door. "Oh wait, Bucky?"
It still felt odd, hearing his name aloud. Especially spoken so gently. "Hm?" he asked, the response feeling easy and natural. It was possibly the first time he'd said something without purposeful precontemplation. It felt weird.
"I have a favor to ask." she said, suddenly looking very shy. He didn't know Mika spectacularly well, but she never seemed to be shy. He wondered if she had preemptively returned the jacket, and had realized the cold. He handed it back out to her. She shook her head, giving him a tender smile. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place it. "No, um, that's very sweet but...well, you mentioned that you did boxing, and I just - I mean, if it's okay - I was hoping you could teach me some stuff."
That was certainly not what he'd been expecting. Mika, fight? The Soldier had trained hard, and had trained many others. Phantom pains echoed through his ribs. "Absolutely not." he said. Mika did not belong in that category. He could not train another to kill. He did not want to access that part of him anymore.
"Just a little bit!" she said. She seemed marginally child-like, trying to bargain. "I don't need to be professional, I just want to be able to, you know, defend myself."
This explanation also caught him by surprise. Defensive tactics - those were not often passed on to those he taught before. He could tweak some of the things he knew, make them less aggressive, less combative. "I don't know." he said. He was afraid that other memories would surface. Memories that he wanted to forget permanently.
"I promise you, I looked into classes and everything, but they're all so expensive and they don't seem to be very good and I just…" she paused. "I don't like feeling weak. I just want to be able to protect myself. To feel independent again. To be able to go for a run without my neighbor worrying about me."
Her face was very serious, possibly the most serious he'd ever seen her. This was obviously something that had been troubling her deeply. It wasn't exactly surprising, Bucky realized. It explained her being awake at odd hours, and feeling the need to run in the middle of the night. He'd also noticed she hadn't gone out with friends since that night, she'd only had them over to visit before staying home. Besides these emotional considerations, she made another fair point. If he were to teach her to defend herself (and really, who would he trust more than himself for such a task), then that would be one less thing for him to be concerned with. It would be a worthwhile precaution.
"Okay." he said. She jumped in her excitement, her hands moving slightly toward him before she pulled them back, clasping them in front of her chest. "So you can be safe."
"Yes! Thank you, that's all I want." she said. "Maybe Saturday morning? The gym I go to is nearly empty at that time, and they have a room they use for group classes that has mats and stuff. Say, seven?"
Seven was too late. More risk of interacting with people. "Six." he said.
"Six it is then. I'd say I'd text you, but someone doesn't have a phone." she said, giving him a pointed look. Bucky realized she was joking with him, something he didn't think he'd ever see again. He felt like he was living in an alternate reality, one where he was just an average civilian. His throat felt oddly tight, so he just gave her a grin and a shrug before going into his apartment. He didn't look through the eyelet to see her reaction, instead taking a moment to lean against the wall and take a deep breath. The unexpected change in his schedule had fatigued him, but he felt accomplished. Their conversation had felt, dare he say, normal. He actually felt like a person again.
He took his receipt from his pocket, tucking it into the box with the few others he had. Perhaps, in a few years, he'd be healed enough to call on a girl who'd expressed interest. But not today. Today, he was still too broken. Today, there were still too many pieces of himself missing. But every day, things felt a little better. His smiles didn't feel as forced, and he didn't feel the strong undercurrent of panic any time someone looked at him. He was still hypervigilant, and he probably always would be. He still had nightmares, and those probably would never go away. But one day, he would be a new man.
He hung his jacket in the closet. A gentle scent of flowers drifted from it, differentiating it from his other clothing. He found he didn't mind it. As the scent faded from his senses, he sat at his table and pulled his journal toward him.
He had a lot to write down today.
Thank you so so much to everyone who's read and reviewed! I love seeing your feedback, and am so grateful to y'all for giving this story a lil bit of your time. Please let me know what you think of this one!