Bucky let a sigh of relief out through his nose. He had found a little café that was a little off the beaten path, which was still ideal for the former assassin who was trying to rejoin society. They sold good coffee and while there were always other patrons there, it never felt overwhelming. He had taken to reading his library books in a corner booth there instead of in his dingy apartment at least a couple days a week. So far, nobody had visibly recognized him, and there hadn't been any signs that anyone was tailing him or otherwise out to confront him.

Bright blue eyes looked up when the front door to the café opened, letting in a short burst of chilly autumn air. His breath caught in his chest. Striding toward the front counter looking frazzled, though considerably more put together than when he had met her, was the young woman who had lost her cat. Although he was sure she wasn't an undercover operative assigned to take him out, he wasn't sure if he had deemed it safe to develop any sort of rapport with anyone. Hell, he didn't know if he even deserved to develop rapport with anyone.

He lifted his book and tried to look immersed in it, hoping that the woman wouldn't notice or recognize him. As usual, it seemed luck wasn't on his side.

"Oh! It's you!"

The young woman side-stepped the counter and approached his table. He gave her a weak smile that he hoped would suffice as a social interaction, and pretended to turn back to his book. In actuality, he was looking the young woman over, surprised at how different she looked than during their previous encounter. Her long, espresso colored hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders and her face was much prettier now that it wasn't tear-soaked. She wore an olive colored blouse beneath a fitted black blazer, black dress pants, and black ankle boots that had just a bit of a chunky heal. Clutched in her hand was a large laptop bag and pinned to it was what looked like a badge of some sort.

"You disappeared the other night," she accused.

"Sorry," he replied feebly.

"You'll just have to let me thank you now, and with interest," she asserted. Then, more shyly, she added, "Unless you're in a hurry to get somewhere?"

Bucky was sorely tempted to lie and say that he was indeed in a hurry, but given that he was reading in a café in the middle of the day, he was sure that a refusal would come off as rude. Instead, he tried, "You really don't need to thank me."

"Of course I do! You're a total stranger and really stepped up to help me. Please, what're you drinking? I'll grab you one as a thank you."

Bucky chuckled uncomfortably and said, "I appreciate the offer, but that would be a lot of caffeine for one afternoon."

The woman looked crestfallen for a moment, and Bucky felt something stirring inside of him. He had a feeling that the pre-experimentation-Bucky was loathe to upset a pretty young woman. But what about present day Bucky?

"Well, how about a raincheck?" she asked, nervousness seeping into her voice again.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to have a local acquaintance. Maybe it was more suspicious to be the creepy 30 year old loner slinking around the streets at night and camping out in a café during the day. He realized when her face fell into disappointment and she opened her mouth the brush off what she was sure was a rejection that he was taking too long to answer. Quickly, he replied, "Sure. A raincheck would be fine. Although you still really don't owe me anything."

"Okay, great. Today is… Tuesday?" At his nod, she continued, "Okay, do you mind meeting me here Friday at 4? I'll be off work then."

"Sure," he nodded, mentally adding, Not like I have a busy schedule to work around.

"Great," she said, sounding relieved. Hastily, she rummaged in the front pocket of her laptop bag and pulled out a small card and a pen. She scribbled on it for a moment and then handed it to him. "I have to run, but I'll look forward to repaying you then. My name is Harper, by the way."

Another jolt of panic hit him. Although he was trying to figure out who "Bucky" was, it was a pretty damn recognizable nickname. Even if she didn't recognize it, what if it got around to someone who did? Knowing he needed to give her an answer, he blurted, "James."

"Nice to meet you, James. See you Friday," she said with a smile before turning and hastening out of the café.

Dammit! Why had he given her a name he was pretty sure he had never liked? Now in a mood, he looked down at the card in his hand. In small, slightly messy script, Harper had written: Friday, 10/12/2014, 4pm - Cafea Minunată. He flipped the thick piece of paper over and realized it was her business card. Harper Montgomery, LSW. It seemed like she worked for some sort of family services agency? Looks like he would be camping out at the library doing some research on the internet over the next couple days.

"LSW," Bucky muttered under his breath. "Licensed social worker…"

It was Friday morning, and the number of times the former assassin had debated not showing up at the café to meet Harper was borderline shameful. From what he had read online, she was probably a truly, genuinely good person. It seemed like social workers were chronically underpaid and overworked, and that they dealt hands-on with some really serious, sad things. From the little he had seen of her, she seemed to fit the stereotype. If she was receiving any semblance of a livable wage, she wouldn't be living in such a dangerous neighborhood. Plus, when she walked into the café on Tuesday, she was clearly frazzled and rushed. She had dedicated her life to helping others despite the personal cost. What right did he have to connect with her on any level as someone who had spent the last 70 years killing people?

You need a cover, he reminded himself. And you're never going to pass as socially acceptable if you don't learn how to act normal again. She's just a tool. A way to increase safety out here, and a way to figure out who the hell I am now.

But even that left him feeling nauseous. He didn't want to think of anyone else as a tool. He had been reduced to a tool. Who was he to do that to someone else?

He suddenly wished he was meeting her at a bar.

Blue eyes darted nervously up at the clock. 4:08. How long did he wait? Did Harper come to her senses and decide to ditch the creepy loner?

The thought had barely registered when the door to the café opened and the young woman stepped through it. Today, she was decked out in black. She wore a plain, loose fitting black dress that fell a few inches above her knee, opaque black tights, and the same black ankle boots. She also wore a lightweight black coat. Her dark hair was straight and shone even in the dull artificial light of the café. Her cinnamon colored eyes roamed the area before falling on him in his usual back corner booth. As she approached, he suddenly felt terribly unattractive with his scruffy facial hair, beat up hat, and windbreaker. His left hand, encased in a glove, was hidden in his lap under the table.

It doesn't matter what you look like, he berated himself. You're not trying to woo her; you don't do that anymore… Right?

"Hey!" she greeted cheerfully, setting her laptop bag in the booth across from him. "I am so sorry I'm late. I had a little bit of an issue to deal with at my last appointment today."

"Sorry to hear that," Bucky replied earnestly.

Harper waved it off, saying, "Typical Friday. Anyway, what can I get you?"

"You really don't-"

"Shush with the chivalry. What do you want?"

Bucky was a little taken aback. He didn't remember women being quite so… strong-willed? Vocal? The tiny piece of him that was Old Bucky was protesting in the back of his mind, but honestly he couldn't quite find it in him to assert himself as a gentleman. Instead, he gave in and said, "It doesn't matter. You can choose."

"It's not really a token of gratitude if it isn't something you want," Harper frowned. "What do you like?"

"I'm not really sure," he answered, brows knitting.

Harper pressed, "Well, what do you usually get?"

"Black coffee."

"Because you like it?"

"More like… I know what it tastes like."

The young woman hummed thoughtfully. "Well, what's something you're curious about trying?"

Bucky was thoughtful for a long moment. "I guess… I always look at the maple brew?"

"Alright, be right back," she promised, heading toward the front counter. Bucky watched her engage with the barista, both young women friendly and familiar with each other. The dark haired woman waited a few minutes before accepting two mugs, and then headed back for his table. Setting the taller of the two in front of him, she stated, "Better to try something new on someone else's dime. Or at least, that's how I like to do it."

"Thank you," he replied. "You really didn't have to."

"I'm happy to. This is nothing compared to having Aslan back home with me, and that was all you."

Bucky looked away uncomfortably before asking, "So you come here often?" She smirked at the cliché and he quickly added, "It just seems like you knew the woman who works here."

"I am a frequent flier here. Sometimes I like to work away from my office – well, more specifically my phone – and this place is usually pretty quiet. Plus, it's near enough to a bunch of my clients, so it's a convenient place to stop between appointments," she answered. After taking a sip of her drink, which smelled a lot like plain black tea, she asked, "Did you just start coming here? Otherwise, I would've expected to run into you at some point."

"Yeah," he nodded. Evasively, he continued, "I'm fairly new to this area, and it took me a while to find this place. I like it, though."

Harper nodded a couple of times. Bucky took a sip of his coffee as a way of occupying both his hand and his mouth, and was pleasantly surprised at the sweet taste that washed over his tongue.

"What's the verdict?" Harper asked.

"Definitely better than black coffee," he replied.

"Would you have it again?"

"Yeah, I think so," he nodded slowly.

A smile turned the corners of her lips. Fingers circling the rim of her own cup, she asked, "So I've been wondering; how were you able to find Aslan so easily? Are you a hunter or something?"

Bucky froze and his jaw clenched. Her cinnamon colored eyes looked at him innocently, and there was no trace of any ulterior motives on her face. She hadn't raised any red flags, but he still needed to be cautious. Pondering how to answer her question, he thought bitterly that in the crudest sense, that was an apt description of his former lifestyle. He nodded once and met her gaze as he answered, "Yeah, but I don't do that anymore."

Unfazed by the weight of his declaration, she replied, "I figured you must've been a hunter or military or something with those tracking skills. Oh, unless you are military?"

Bucky cursed the instinctual tensing of his body and that she had noticed it. Again, he admitted honestly, "I was in the army. I don't like to talk about it."

"Understandable," she nodded. "Anyway, where are you from? Your English is perfect and unaccented."

"Brooklyn, New York," he answered. "Yours is the same. Where are you from?"

"Ah, natural born enemies," she grinned playfully. "I'm from Boston."

At that, Bucky couldn't help but return her smile with a smirk of his own. "Enemies indeed. You guys just suck at baseball and have always blamed it on us."

"Your guy cursed us!" she protested immediately. "Luckily we reversed that shit."

Bucky snorted into his coffee, amused and surprised by her use of the expletive. Trying to keep the attention off of his life and his awkwardness, he asked, "So what's your job like? I saw on your card that you're a social worker?"

Harper hummed her affirmation over the edge of her cup. Placing it back down, she said, "Yeah, I am. I work with family services, but we're not just those people that take away kids. My agency works with families with kids and with aging adults. I work mostly with the latter, but I do have some young clients, too. With the kids, we try and help support the families to take care of them and to ensure their safety and normal development. There's a lot of poverty here, so that's a big hurdle. Then with the older adults, we make sure that their needs are being met and that their medical care is being sufficiently coordinated. Sometimes that means putting in support services, sometimes, it can be educating families on dementia, and so on."

"Wow, sounds like really important work," said Bucky, trying to hide his immediate desire to learn more.

"It is," Harper agreed. "Social workers get a bad rep as the people who take away kids, but that's seriously not our go-to. Does it happen? Yes. Do we sometimes have to remove older adults, too? Yes. But we only do it when their wellbeing can't be ensured any other way. The system is broken, but we have to work within it. Am I talking too much? I feel like I am; this isn't really interesting, listening to me bemoan the negative conceptions of-"

"No, it is," Bucky assured, interrupting her. "I'm totally unfamiliar with this sort of thing, so it's interesting to hear you talk about it."

Harper laughed lightly and said, "Well, promise to tell me to shut up once you're sick of hearing about it. Because I could really go on and on, and I have some weird stories. I have this one client, an older war vet, who insists on showing me all of the shrapnel the doctors pulled out of his leg in World War II. I just saw him a couple weeks ago, and he has the shakes, and out of the box came all of the pieces, right into my lap."

Bucky chuckled at her enthusiasm and said, "That's unpleasant."

"Unpleasant? Just a little! Unless you're into touching metal bits that were pulled outta people."

"I can't say I am."

"So what are you into? I noticed you were reading here the other day."

Mildly displeased that the focus was back on him, Bucky answered, "Mostly history, but I like psychology, too."

"What branches of psychology?" she asked excitedly. "That was one of my majors."

"Umm... trauma, I guess."

Brown eyes roamed his face for a moment, as if trying to figure something out. Her face brightened again, and she said, "My focus was clinical, and I took an entire course on trauma. I have a book I think you'd like. I'll have to start carrying it around in case we run into each other again."

Bucky lay awake, staring unseeingly at his water-stained ceiling. Getting coffee with Harper was actually pretty enjoyable. Maybe he had been a little starved for human interaction, but he also found that she was really a pretty agreeable, interesting person. They hadn't talked about too many personal details, which was a relief. He preferred to talk about her work and books. Plus, he had found her really easy to interact with. She hadn't been pushy, other than about buying him a drink of his choosing. She has also left no doubt that she was willing to see him again, but also left things open enough that he never actually had to. She hadn't pressed for a phone number, or another coffee date.

Date? Was it a date? he found himself wondering. No, it wasn't a date. Nothing about that was like a date. It was coffee between acquaintances.

Feeling stupid, he shook his head. Now the next problem was whether or not he would begin avoiding the café and, subsequently, Harper. He knew she lived a few blocks from him, so he could avoid her home easily. And it wouldn't be difficult to avoid the café where she admitted to frequenting during the day. He could go early in the morning, or stop going all together. Somewhere else surely had maple coffee.

Then again, hadn't he agreed to meet with her as a means of establishing a better cover? As much as he tried to avoid civilians becoming familiar with him, there was no way to completely avoid that. He needed food from the market, and the vendors quickly came to know all of their regulars. And the library had been an invaluable resource to him on his quest to fill in the massive gaps in his memory and his knowledge, but it was small and was only tended by a single librarian. The barista at the café had surely come to recognize him. Having someone who appeared to be a friend would really fill out his profile as a normal civilian.

Maybe she could actually be a real friend.

Bucky shook off the thought. You couldn't have a real friendship with someone who didn't know the real you. Besides, his hands were far too bloody to deserve a friendship with someone like her.

A/N: Thank you so much for the attention this story received after only its first chapter. I appreciate your continued interest and support.