"Dessert?" Harper offered, placing the last dish in her refrigerator. "Or would you rather wait a little bit?"
"Whatever you prefer," he replied noncommittally.
"Well, I've been looking forward to this, so…" She opened the fridge again and removed a delicious looking cake frosted with thick white frosting flecked with dark speckles. Bucky watched with anticipation as she cut into it, and hummed his approval when she pulled the first slice from the whole. Three layers of rich, dark chocolate cake separated by more of the thick frosting perched on her spatula. Bright blue eyes watched the cake slide perfectly onto a plate, and he was happy when the large slice was placed in front of him. Seeing his excitement, she smirked and said, "I thought you may have a sweet tooth?"
"Do I?" he asked absently, looking down at the confection before him with anticipation.
"I believe so," she laughed. "If your preference for maple coffee or the way you're looking at this cake like it's the center of your universe are anything to go by."
He looked up at her bashfully and admitted, "You may be right."
Harper cut herself a piece of cake as well, though notably smaller than the one he had been given. He took another sip of beer, waiting impatiently for her to cut into her piece so that he could eat without feeling rude. When she did, he turned his attention to his plate, watching his fork cut through the dark, moist cake. The flavors of rich chocolate and sweet buttercream exploded over his tongue.
Holy shit, he thought appreciatively. Aloud, he complimented, "You're as good a baker as you are a cook."
"Thank you," she smiled. Her light brown eyes moved downward and she leaned over, scooping up her huge cat and placing him in her lap. She slid another bite onto her fork and offered it to the orange animal. He sniffed it for a moment before recoiling. Harper hummed knowingly before placing the fork in her mouth. By way of explanation, she said, "He doesn't have a sweet tooth."
Bucky chuckled. Somehow, this young woman's interactions with her too large cat were incredibly charming.
Eventually, the unlikely pair moved to the living room, each taking an end of the simple dark grey couch. Conversation had moved to discussing the book Bucky had most recently been lent. He enjoyed talking books with her; she was refreshingly bright and analytical. They talked points of interest, about the actual writing, and criticism of some of the conclusions drawn. It was a fun, interesting exchange.
It also served as a reminder. "I actually brought it back."
He reached for his coat, which Harper had draped over the back of the armchair in the living room. From the inner pocket he extracted the volume and handed it back to her. He watched as her light brown eyes immediately found the additional item tucked beneath the cover.
Nervously, he explained, "It's not much, but it is Christmas, and you can consider it a thank you for having me."
Harper slid the bookmark from the book, turning the item over in her hands. It was a thin silver rod, the top of which was hooked like a cane. From the end of the curve dangled a small cat charm. She looked up at him with a large grin turning her lips. "It's so pretty! Thank you so much, James!"
"It really doesn't compare to dinner and everything, but…" he muttered, cheeks flushing with his discomfort again. "Also, I recently got a new cellphone. I wasn't sure if it'd be easier to coordinate getting coffee that way…?"
"I really love this," she assured, carefully replacing the bookmark in the book. "And I would love to exchange numbers. Hang on, I'll grab my phone."
She disappeared into the kitchen, returning with another full glass of wine and her phone. "D'you text, or…?"
"Yeah," he nodded, though more truthfully he just knew he had the capability and was going to need to learn how to do it in practice.
She offered him her phone, already open to create a new contact and with his name typed in. He added his phone number, ignoring the option to type in any sort of last name, and then handed it back to her. She said nothing, and typed for a few moments. A moment later, the new phone in his pocket vibrated. By way of explanation, she said, "I texted you so you have my number, too."
"Thank you," he nodded, glad that she hadn't said anything about his intentionally refraining from giving her more information about himself.
The rest of the night passed quickly. Once he had drained his fourth beer and Harper's bottle of wine sat empty on the coffee table, Bucky decided he should take his leave.
"Well, I should get going. It's pretty late, and I've more than taken advantage of your hospitality," he said, standing from his seat.
"You okay to get home?" Harper asked, standing as well with slight stumble from the wine.
Bucky's lips twitched upward at her concern. "Yeah, I'll be fine."
"Okay, hang on a second."
Bucky watched as Harper disappeared into the kitchen. He shrugged, pulling on his boots. He had just shrugged into his jacket when the young woman reappeared, two large Tupperware containers in her hands. Something tightened in his chest, and Bucky had to resist the urge to rub uncomfortably at his sternum.
"Leftovers and some cake," she explained, extending the containers toward him.
"You really don't-"
"Merry Christmas, James," she cut him off firmly.
With another small smile, he replied, "Merry Christmas, Harper."
Bucky felt like he was a teenager again. He wouldn't – well, more accurately, couldn't – fall back asleep after the latest gruesome murder bathed his mind in crimson. Instead, he lay staring up at the ceiling and wondering for the hundredth time where to draw the line in his friendship with Harper. At first, he found her company agreeable enough that he was willing to use her as a cover, a way to not come off as the creepy foreigner. The problem was he had actually come to like her.
This posed two key problems. Firstly, now that he was Bucky rather than the Winter Soldier, he didn't like lying to his friend, especially one as kind and selfless as Harper. Were they even really friends if he was lying to her? Because he was lying to her by withholding his true identity and everything that came with it. How close could he get to her, knowing all the while he was betraying her trust?
But the times he spent with Harper were the times he felt the most normal. Or at least he felt the least like a brainwashed-assassin-turned-fugitive struggling to unscramble his brain. The first few months he was on the run, Bucky was completely alone. He couldn't trust himself, couldn't trust his broken memories or his fragile mind. There was no way he could put his trust in anyone else. The isolation was at first a relief. He remembered being social, especially with women, but decided that trait had changed over the many decades of his life. The former assassin fell into a boring, lonely routine. It was comfortable. Now he had spent the last two months with Harper as a friend. The definition of "comfortable" had expanded to include sitting across the table from her in a café, he sipping coffee and reading his latest book, and she typing away at her computer and letting her quickly forgotten tea get cold. Spending Christmas with her had been comfortable. Exchanging occasional texts with her, a skill he was proudly mastering, had become comfortable. He never wanted to go back to being the Winter Soldier, and he didn't know who Bucky was anymore, but maybe with Harper he could be James. And maybe that was okay.
The quiet calm of the library in the morning provided a special sort of comfort. Bucky's fingertips glided absently across the spines of the shelved tomes, eyes moving lazily over dull colors and peeling titles. Unfortunately for him, the local library was small. As such, he had read through the vast majority of its books on trauma, psychosis, self-help, and global history. He wasn't sure what else he was interested in. What had he enjoyed before the war?
The answer was uncomfortably unclear, so Bucky decided that he should move on to getting caught up on movies. He had liked going to the theatre with Steve or with a date. The movies and cartoons had been good. Things could have only improved, right?
The former soldier ambled over to the movie section and was still impressed as ever that entire films could be contained in such small packages. The previous tenant of his battered studio apartment had left behind a bulky television set that appeared to have a DVD player built into it. He wasn't sure how to use that feature, or if it even worked, but he'd never find out if he didn't try.
Blue eyes began skimming new titles. It seemed modern civilization loved war and violence. He had seen more than enough of that. He was intrigued, though, about a war series that seemed to take place in outer space. Space had been a distant dream when he had enlisted, and it had been interesting to think about what was out there waiting to be discovered. He plucked the first so called "Star Wars" film from the shelf. A couple of older looking films captured his attention. He added "The Wizard of Oz" and "To Kill a Mockingbird" and "12 Angry Men" to his hand. In the section of supposedly popular picks, he took the first "Harry Potter" film as well. These, in addition to the latest book on lend from the library of Harper, would have to be sufficient for now.
James: Please explain to me why a movie about a lost girl with magic shoes and her ragtag, useless friends adventuring around facing witches and flying monkeys is still popular today, when there are movies about three brave kids using magic to protect people even when nobody believes that there is a threat. The latter undoubtedly trumps the former.
Harper: Are you watching Harry Potter without me?!
James: Was I not supposed to?
Harper: No!
James: My apologies. I only watched the first one. Should I include you when I watch the next ones?
Harper: Obviously! To your earlier point, I have no idea. I honestly hate the Wizard of Oz. I know a lot of scholars think it was all a metaphor for political and economic issues at the time the book was written, but fuck the flying monkeys. That shit was scary as a kid.
James: Noted. Harper and flying monkeys do not mix.
Harper: More importantly, Harry Potter marathon this weekend?
James: I have to work early both days, but my afternoons and evenings are free.
Harper: That's fine by me. My place or yours?
James: If you don't mind, I can come to you. Then you won't have to worry about walking home in the dark.
Harper: That's fine. Aslan is taking a liking to you.
James: Is he? The puncture wounds in my knee beg to differ.
Harper: He jumped up to greet you, ya baby.
James: Your Crookshanks of a cat has it out for me, and you know it.
Harper: Aslan is nothing like Crookshanks! If you read the books, you'd know that.
James: There are books?
Harper: Oh, my poor Muggle-born friend. Come over on Saturday and this witch will give you a brief introduction to the History of Magic, and maybe even put you through a Sorting Ceremony.
James: Oh? I figured you'd be more of a Potions Master.
Harper: I am pretty good in Potions, but where I really excel is Charms. ;)
James: Very humble.
Harper: Ten points from whatever the hell House you are.
"You still working at the shipping center?" asked Harper, watching him switch out the DVDs from over the rim of her fourth glass of wine.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I think once the weather is warmer I'll try and see if I can get some work at the docks. It sucks being indoors all morning."
"They pay extra in the winter down there, if that matters to you."
"More money would be nice, but I'm not really a fan of the cold."
"Poor New Yorker can't take the winter chill?" she teased.
Bucky smiled wryly and returned to his seat on the other end of the couch. "Not so much."
To his relief, Harper let the topic go. Instead, she scooted in with an admonishing look and said, "Ya know, it's basically a mortal sin to be watching the movies before you read the books."
"We can take a break after this one," he offered. "I'll read in the meantime."
"Are you a robot?" Bucky's cybernetic hand clenched automatically. Harper continued, "It seems like you must never sleep! It took me years to get through my library and you'll have read all my books in under a year at this rate."
"I sleep," he defended mildly. "Just not well. The books help, though."
"Well, shit," she smirked. "No pressure at all on the library of Harper."
Bucky scoffed as she playfully bumped his shoulder with hers. "You have an extensive collection of interesting reads."
"Eventually you'll have read through all the scholarly stuff and all that will be left is all the trashy porn novels," Harper mused.
Bucky blanched, his face heating up spectacularly. Harper burst into hearty laughter, her hand slapping down on his knee. He realized then that she was teasing, adding to his embarrassment. He also realized he hadn't experienced sustained, friendly human contact in decades and her hand was still on his knee. The former assassin wasn't sure what to make of that. Blue eyes watched the dark haired woman, noting a tear roll down her cheek as she struggled to quiet her laughter and regulate her breath.
With her laughter stopped but a huge grin still in place, Harper apologized, "I'm sorry, James, but oh my gosh your face! Priceless! Don't worry, I don't have a stash of porn; I get it online like everyone else." She snorted a laugh again, and continued, "But seriously, I'll endeavor to keep supplying reasonably decent books, now for a multitude of reasons. Starting with you leaving with the rest of the Harry Potter books today so we can continue the marathon next weekend. If you're free."
Bucky chuckled lightly at the quick amendment. "Yeah, I should be free. Not much of a social life, remember?"
"Right there with ya."
The movie started then, the previews having played during their conversation, and Harper fell silent. It was then Bucky realized that she hadn't moved back to her original seat on the other end of the couch. She now sat next to him on the middle seat. There was no more physical contact, but the closeness was new and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He reminded himself that a man and a dame could be just friends and that he wasn't looking or ready for more anyway. And she really did just seem to have gotten comfortable in that spot. There didn't appear to be any other motives in play. Maybe it wasn't so bad either, to experience being so close to another person and not having to be on edge.
A/N: Thank you so much for all of the views, follows, favorites, and reviews. I'm grateful for all of the support. I'd love feedback, particularly on my portrayal of Bucky and the pacing thus far, as I've never written him before and always seem to struggle with pacing. Any and all support is still absolutely appreciated, though.