A young woman stood by her window, absentmindedly watching the neon lights of the city blur against the fog on her windows.

Her apartment was quiet except for the occasional mews of her grumpy cat – who was resentful about being abandoned at her neighbours' house for a week. Mephisto was already looking fuller, after his time spent there.

However, it was almost 3 AM and he knew that Jackie shouldn't be awake. He rubbed against her leg, still needy for affection despite his fury over being neglected. Jackie slowly fell out of her reverie and picked him up, planting a soft kiss on his head and nuzzled into his fur. They both needed that.

The kettle began to whistle from the kitchen, so she padded towards it, letting Mephisto drop down eagerly. He chased his long shadows under the dim, warm light of the apartment. Jackie lightly dipped her herbal tea bag into her mug of boiling water. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she could barely keep them open, but neither could she get any sleep either. Her heart felt tender and raw, as if it was barely beating – and it could give up at any moment. She reflexively tapped her phone screen for the twentieth time that minute. There were no new messages.

She couldn't help checking again as soon as her phone screen dimmed out.

Mephisto gave up waiting for her to go to bed and curled up in the sofa seat in the living room. Jackie hadn't yet turned up the heating in her home, and she could feel a chill settling into her bones – but she wasn't sure if it was from the cold or her own emotions. The silence felt deafening as she stood sipping her tea in the warm light of the kitchen, alone in a circle of light, in the midst of a dark apartment.

It was in this moment that she regretted giving up her cluttered lifestyle. The nick-nacks and exotic decorations she had collected over the years, could have come in handy in keeping her company right now. The space around her wouldn't have felt so bare and alien. She wouldn't have felt so alone.

A week after her lunch with Bucky, her mother had fallen sick again. But this time, it had been worse.

Her uncle had taken to praying in the hospital waiting room, and it had increased Jackie's apprehension even further. After spending a week in and out of the hospital, rescheduling therapy appointments, leaving Mephisto with her neighbour, and barely managing to eat two meals a day; Jackie had finally erupted into fight with her uncle. That too, over a reason that she herself couldn't even recall an hour later. It had ended with him forcing her out of the hospital to get a full night's sleep for the first night that week. He promised her he would call if anything happened. She believed him wholeheartedly, and of course – cared for him more than she let on; but being at home only worsened her agony.

The hospital had sounds and light, and doctors she could pester. It had her uncle she could argue with, and it had her mother…. whose hand she could hold in tears, for hours on end. Her home was unbearably quiet and unrecognisable. She couldn't imagine how she had lived here alone for so many years. She was no longer welcome between the four beige walls.

Jackie's phone rang and she answered within a second. Her heart already rapidly beating against her chest.

"Jackie,"

She knew that tone of voice. It was the same tone her uncle used to pray in. A whisper. Hoarse but kind. Soothing and reassuring. It was always a struggle to argue with that voice.

Jackie only responded in a sharp inhale. Her head was already floating above her body, detached and loose. She squinted to try and hear better, but there were no words on the other line. After what could have been an eternity, or maybe a single second – her uncle called her name again. But who was she to say that it was her uncle after all? Maybe she should listen more closely next time. Her fingers glided over the marble countertop.

As a child, she would often pretend during breakfast, that her fingers were ballerinas performing on a stage. She was a ballerina.

The third time he called her name, Jackie's head finally settled back onto her shoulders and weighed far too much for any human to possibly carry alone. How had she ever carried this weight between her shoulders before?

"Yes, I know,"She wasn't sure if she was speaking aloud or not.

"How?"

"I just know,"

There was no way the funeral could take place at her apartment.

Thunder rumbled in the late October sky. The rain had been pouring all day long and the autumn chills had long-settled in. In a suburban house on the outskirts of the city, guests were taking their leave. It was a quiet gathering, and a solemn one. Around a dozen people still remained; those within and close to the family, who wanted to reminisce and offer as much support as possible. Fog fell over the bougainvillea-covered house.

The doorbell rang. A man stood on the porch, in a black coat, shirt and pants. His hair was untidy from being drenched in the rain. He looked frazzled and out of place. The man appeared unsettling to the homeowner, who stared at him, intimidated. He felt small in comparison to the stranger. It didn't help that the stranger had a scar on the corner of his eyebrow.

"Is this the funeral for Felicity Summers?"

"Uh yes, well it's over now but please, come on in," the homeowner instinctively gestured him inside. Despite his gnawing suspicion about the stranger, he was still warm in his welcome.

The stranger seemed even more uncomfortable at the invitation, but he accepted it with a nod and his eyes turned down. When he approached near, the homeowner realised the man was taller and broader, than he thought. He closed the door behind them to stop the cold from getting in.

The house was furnished with a cosy sophistication. Hearing a crowd of people from the living room, the visitor stopped at the entrance, uncertain of wandering further inside.

"I'm sorry son, you look very familiar, but have we ever met?"

The visitor's eyes flashed from the living room, back to the homeowner in front of him, who was staring at him openly, but with amiability. He was almost past middle-aged, his face was strained with grief, but he had the kindest eyes. The visitor knew he posed no threat. In fact, he could read nothing but integrity on the man's face, and he could read people very well.

"I came to pay my condolences to Jackie,"

"Oh, Jackie – right, of course. She's in the kitchen. Just go straight and then turn left,"

"Thank you. You must be Benjamin Summers?" the visitor inquired tentatively.

"Yes,"

"I'm really sorry for the loss of your sister, Benjamin,"

Benjamin gave an earnest smile and nodded. The visitor fidgeted with the tips of his glove and slipped away to avoid being caught by anyone else.

Jackie was in the kitchen, scrubbing away at the piles of dishes that surrounded the sink. The kitchen island was covered in stacks upon stacks of delicious dishes, packed in boxes and glass tupperware. Lightning flashed outside as she arranged the clean dishes on the drying rack.

"Hey,"

Strangely, Jackie not very surprised to see Bucky Barnes in her uncle's kitchen. Or perhaps she didn't have the energy to muster up any astonishment.

"You made it just in time for clean-up,"

She hadn't meant to come across bitter, but perhaps that was just her natural tone today. Her body was aching for no apparent reason, and she was beyond tired. However, even after trying – Jackie couldn't sleep.

"I wasn't sure if I should attend," Bucky's voice trailed off. His countenance bore a flash of guilt, as he looked down at his feet. Removing the glove from his only right arm and sliding it into his coat pocket, he patted his wet hair down, but it still remained spikey and textured. His gaze flickered over the room instantaneously, as if on instinct. Scanning the surroundings for potential threats and escapes.

Jackie sometimes forgot that Bucky was a renowned figure, in both past and recent history. Of course he would avoid social gathering and places where he could be openly recognised and approached. Public settings with strangers didn't attract as many people to him, as private gathering did. When it came to this one, his avoidance was both understandable, and considerate.

In fact, calling him to the funeral had been an accident. Jackie had meant to mass-text a handful of her friends – informing them of her mother's funeral and her uncle's address, but instead, accidentally forwarded it to majority of the contacts on her phone. Including both Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.

Since then, she had avoided touching her phone which was flooded with messages. However, no one besides her four closest friends had shown up, and upon Jackie's reassurance and insistence – they had all left by now.

"Yeah, well thank you for coming. I really wasn't expecting to see you,"

She didn't turn away from her load of dishes. Jackie had teased her uncle for years over how his refusal to get a dishwasher, and now she was grateful for its lacking. At least now she had something to mindlessly preoccupy herself with, so she wasn't idle and stuck in a room with all her relatives and family friends. On any other occasion, she would enjoy their company and even adored some of them. But this was not such an occasion.

"Do you need help?" Bucky cautiously approached closer.

Jackie made no reply but after a minute, she handed him a wet plate, which he dried off with a clean towel. After that, Jackie washed the dishes and Bucky dried them. They were only a few steps apart, but the proximity went unnoticed by both.

For what seemed like an eternity, the stood in their respective spots in silence, the hushed flow of water in the sink was the only sound to be heard. A million lightyears away – in the living room – muffled conversations continued on. Thunder rolled in the sky above them.

When all the dishes had been washed, Jackie began storing away the food in the fridge and freezer. Bucky occupied himself by wiping the kitchen floor, for no apparent reason besides to avoid standing idle and awkward. When they were both done, Jackie quietly asked: "Do you want to go out to the porch?"

The porch behind the kitchen, looked out at the backyard – which had a quaint vegetable garden that was flooded with rainwater. Two wiry peach trees stood in front of the garden wall, which surrounded the backyard.

The downpour showed no signs of slowing down, as Bucky leaned against the wooden porch pillar. Jackie's dark hair was tied in a loose bun behind her silver earrings, and she had wrapped a grey, pashmina shawl around herself. She drew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of her black dress.

"Do you mind?"

Bucky shook his head.

Jackie's lips twitched in dismay as she lit her cigarette. "I don't smoke, I mean – not normally. Maybe once or twice a year," She wasn't sure whether she was trying to justify her actions to Bucky, or herself. In daylight, she looked even paler and worn out, than before. Jackie sat down on the rickety old swing on the porch and stared out at the lush garden drowning in rain. Puffs of cigarette smoke vanished in the chilly and damp air.

Neither of them had anything to say and stayed in a prolonged silence until Bucky finally spoke up. His voice was rough and low – as if he hadn't used it for a long time.

"Sam sends his condolences – from Prague, by the way,"

Jackie took a drag from her cigarette. "Are you guys frenemies now? It's hard to keep track of your relationship ups and downs,"

"What's frenemies?"

"Friends and enemies – at the same time,"

Bucky didn't pause in his response. "Yeah, I think that describes us pretty well,"

Although he couldn't fathom why, his answer made Jackie chuckle. It was a low, almost inconspicuous one. Hoarse and dry. She took another drag of her cigarette. It was probably her turn to say something, but her brain felt empty and devoid. Everything she spoke, felt like it was picked up by the air, and passed through her before she could grasp it. It was either that, or she had nothing to say at all.

"Gotten stabbed lately?" Jackie asked lamely.

Bucky looked at her and she could almost swear there was a twinkle in his gaze. "No, I reserved that for when you're back in office,"

Jackie was taken aback by his new-found quips and wit, and she focused her attention on it. Her week had passed in worry and drowsy sorrow, so she was eager for any impulsive, mental stimulation.

"Is that why you were late today – collecting your best sarcastic remarks for the funeral?"

"Oh, that's dark, Summers. I see now why you have a problem keeping patients,"

"I don't have a problem with keeping -" Jackie suddenly realised he was implying his own session with her, and she let out an exhale of disbelief, picking up on his sense of humour.

"Shouldn't you be teaching karate right now? There's a school down the road, maybe you could try teaching those kids too,"

Jackie wasn't exactly proud of her own comebacks herself, but they would have to do. All things considered – she was short of ammunition. Bucky smiled softly but she could tell he wasn't fazed.

"That's pretty insensitive to schoolteachers, actually. But given the circumstances, I'm not gonna harp on it,"

Jackie scoffed. "Thanks a lot,"

Silence ensued for the next several minutes, as the rain slowed to a drizzle and a subdued shade of auburn painted the sky. A light breeze blew through the air and Jackie tightened her shawl around her. She absentmindedly reached for another cigarette before realising she'd already smoked two and that was enough for now. Maybe she'd smoke the remaining at night, but hopefully not. She really didn't want to make a habit of it; as it had been back in college.

"I'm sorry for running off on you the other day,"

Jackie turned towards Bucky curiously, as she racked her brain to remember their last meeting. It felt like a century ago. Her memories were inexplicably hazy.

"Oh yeah, that's okay,"

Bucky settled down on the top porch stair, with his arms resting on his knees. His left arm was still gloved. Maybe that was why he never looked cold – even in his open coat and thin, black t-shirt.

"I thought I found a lead, but it was a dead end, as usual. But that was Sam's last straw. I got a whole lecture from him, before he took off on his tour around Europe,"

Jackie didn't know how to respond, so she didn't. It was none of her business, anyway. Nevertheless, Bucky continued.

"I don't get it. Everything is in place. Everyone is lined up right where I can have them -"

"Dead?"

"Caught," Bucky gave her a pointed look. "But, every time I think I have it all figured out, something always slips. As soon as I get my hands on something – or someone – the previous pieces fall apart,"

Jackie pursed her lips and she noticed Bucky's expression reflect the grey clouds that rolled above them.

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I really have no idea what you're talking about, Bucky. It all sounds quite ambiguous to me,"

Bucky smiled softly but didn't meet her eyes. "Good. If I told you, I'd have to kill you. Or no, someone else would,"

Jackie rolled her eyes and scoffed.

The sound of paws padding on the floor alerted Bucky, and a black terrier pushed open the kitchen door and excitedly leapt onto Jackie's lap.

"This is Rollo. Rollo say hi to Bucky Barnes," she lightly held his paw up towards Bucky, as the dog licked her hand. Jackie smiled softly, nuzzling her head into the terrier. The swing creaked under their weight, as she stood up, holding Rollo in her arms.

As soon as she sat down on the porch stair, she heard her uncle's voice from inside – which was enough for Rollo to leap out of her arms and run back into the house again.

Jackie wiped the dog hairs from her shawl and dress and rubbed the fingernail of her thumb, into her fingers. After a moment, she gave a resigned sigh.

"You know, everyone says 'at least she's out of pain now', and I feel so selfish because even though it hurt so much to see her in pain, I would rather have that, than have her gone. I don't know… does that make me a villain?"

"Well, I've dealt with my fair share of evil people, and that doesn't qualify you… unfortunately," Bucky affirmed gently.

"Bummer," she murmured back.

"It's like you said – after we lose someone, we'll grab any moments or memories of them, that we can get our hands on,"

"I said that?" Jackie turned to Bucky incredulously.

"Something along those lines," he smiled back. They both sat quietly on that porch stair, watching the drizzle slow down to a few drops, and the sky clear up.

"I keep thinking back to the therapy sessions where I guided people through grief, and looking back at it now – I feel like such a hypocrite," Jackie shook her head. "Everything I said, and all my affirmations – they were so empty, and I didn't even realise it, until it happened to me. Listening to someone grieve, was so easy and convenient for me. I would go home, watch a show and everything was fine. I did my job and felt good about it. But those people – those guys were the ones who had to survive it, not me."

"If you met them now, what would you say?"

She paused to ponder for a moment. "I don't know. I guess I wouldn't say anything. Because nothing I say could change the way they feel, or even make a dent in lessening their pain. That's my biggest takeaway – or 'lesson' from all of this. That's what life is supposed to be right? One character-development lesson after another,"

Jackie was aware of how bitter she sounded, as she tugged the hem of her dress. The loose strands of hair that framed her face, curled into frizz in the humid air. Next to her, Bucky shifted on his porch step. Dried off, his hair was was softer now, but still textured into short, light waves that fell over his forehead. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back.

"I like to think most shitty things don't have a lesson involved,"

His tone was low, and Jackie sharply realised whose company she was in – previously-known as HYDRA's brainwashed assassin. The implications of her words came back to her swiftly and accompanied by a wave of regret.

"Yeah, they don't," she instantly added, but Bucky wasn't perturbed. Or at least, he didn't seem to be. With his right hand, he fiddled with the tips of his left, leather glove.

After a minute of quiet, Bucky smirked to himself. "I read in a newspaper the other day that people are more likely to open up, when you open up to them first. And it actually worked."

"What?" Jackie couldn't see where this was coming from, but he wasn't wrong.

"I told you about S.H.I.E.L.D. and you started talking right ahead," he shook his head with apparent amusement, his lips stretched into a smile.

Jackie frowned for a moment to comprehend his words, but as soon as she opened her mouth to speak – Bucky proclaimed: "You fell for a psychology trick, how about that, huh?"

"Are you serious?" An impulsive urge to strangle him snapped Jackie out of her lethargic state, but there was no fury inside her, only bafflement.

"Yeah, it worked. You can't even deny it," Bucky's countenance still bore a strong hint of pride.

"Why – would you plan that? To get me to talk on my mother's -"

"Oh, come on, you can't bring that -"

"I can't bring up my mother's funeral – on my mother's funeral?"

Subdued and clearly losing, Bucky averted his gaze. His smile was gone now.

"I didn't plan it. I just remembered it while we were sitting in silence. It worked – is all I'm saying."

Jackie shot him a frown but secretly welcomed the newfound energy of bickering. It felt almost revitalising, and the corners of her mouth twisted upwards in fervour. Her subconscious welcomed any emotion that distracted her from the tenderness of the sorrow she felt inside. A crushing wave of solitude and anguish.

"So, what you're reading 'Psychology Today' now? Coming for my job too?"

"Haha," Bucky countered sarcastically. There was still a spark in his eyes, which he kept fixed on the vegetable garden ahead. The rain had completely stopped now.

"Anyway, I don't remember you having a problem with silence, ever before,"

"I don't. It's just that I'm still figuring out the right protocols for interacting with people,"

Bucky's words were sincere, but he uttered them with a hesitancy as if they weren't ready to be spoken aloud, just yet. Yet, he also knew the setting he was in, was one that demanded honesty, despite his uncertainty. Sure, he could evade and escape the uncomfortable – as he often did, through shutting down conversations and offering brisk responses only. But that wouldn't be right. Today was not his day to be reserved or moody.

"There's no protocol for human interactions, Bucky. Especially not ones like these," Jackie mumbled quietly. "And you're doing somewhat fine – I suppose."

A dry "thanks," was the only reply.

"It's oddly comforting to talk to someone who doesn't offer any sympathy, fake or real,"

"Jesus, I said thanks already, Jackie,"

"No, seriously. Because I don't think I can take any more sympathy. It's either just polite funeral etiquettes – which I don't hate because we've all been there, and I don't blame anyone for not caring deeply about me or my mom. In fact, truth be told – I wish I could trade places. But genuine compassion and empathy, is just the worst. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with all of it. I've run out of space in my heart to hold it even. I mean, where do these feelings go?"

Jackie hadn't spoken this much in a long while, and her throat already felt dry and rough. She heaved as her heartbeat gradually slowed down to a regular pace. Unbeknownst to her, by speaking the words into existence, she felt her veins stir with vitality. Perhaps it came from finally admitting to herself, what she was too apprehensive to accept, and allowing herself to feel the inescapable grief and overwhelming doubt. She didn't feel comforted – far from it, but there was a finality in facing the unknown. In proclaiming it aloud. In admitting defeat.

Examining his left glove hand again, Bucky contemplated in silence as Jackie admired the illuminated, evening sky. It had opened to reveal a faded rainbow far ahead, and birds flew towards it, chirping noisily after the storm.

An array of emotions throbbed inside Jackie's chest, expanding in multitudes, in every passing second. She craved vengeance on the world. A peaceful and prolonged sleep. Someone to hug. Somewhere to escape her caring family. Every vein in her body could be felt as a sliver of grief coursed through each one. She was tempted to dig her nails into her own skin – or even someone else's. Find a way to translate her emotional agony, into a physical form. One she could see and treat. One that made sense.

Ultimately, everything accumulated into a single tear down Jackie's cheek.

Excited for the upcoming chapter to bring a change of pace. Would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far x