Wow, so it seems like you guys are liking this so far! I'm really glad :) I love the reviews so please keep them coming! Also, for all of those who were wondering, frumuseţe means "beauty" in Romanian.
Disclaimer (which I forgot last time): I don't own Marvel or any of its characters. Unfortunately.
Chapter One
"I'm talking to a dog," he threw his head back to the sky, exhaling heavily, "maybe I am crazy." He rolled his shoulders once more and quirked a brow at me, "Alright. Let's go. But if you get me kicked out, you're gone. This is the first real place I've had in months. Only place I could call home in… forever."
He stood and I wagged my tail fervently, falling into step beside him as he drifted silently into his mind.
I was going home with the Winter Soldier.
Fuck me, this might've been my worst idea yet.
The soldier's apartment complex was nothing to speak of. There was an entrance leading inside from the back alley, perhaps a mile and a half from the market. It was nondescript, the red brick worn, faded, the foundation partially crumbling. The stairwell leading up to his unit was narrow, tight. He glanced at me a time or two to ensure that I followed him and remained silent.
He stopped on the seventh floor, digging one lonely key from his pocket and unlocking the door to his apartment. It tucked away in the northwestern corner of his building, two noisy neighbors on either side; it wasn't even the half the size of my apartment back home.
Then again, what I could afford after working for SHIELD for nearly a decade and what he could afford as a wanted man on the run was vastly different. In all honesty, I was impressed that he'd even managed to scrape together enough to afford this place. Where he'd gotten the funds was more than likely illegal, but for a man like him to get an honest job was unlikely at best.
The interior was sparsely decorated, and only with the essentials. Nothing personal. No pictures, no knickknacks. Just a mattress on the floor and an empty refrigerator.
At least it was, until he put the plums away on the center rack.
The walls were a drab olive green, the paint peeling in some spots. Every available window was covered in newspaper, suspicious if he were on the first floor, but on the seventh, there was no one to notice. The air was stale and musty because of it, but I doubted he would risk safety for comfort. It was dimly lit, the bare lightbulb over the sink flicking intermittently.
Were I Charlie, in my human form, I wouldn't have known what to do with myself. Stand awkwardly in the middle of his kitchen/bedroom? Come up with some sort of half-hearted compliment on his home? Run for my life when he realized who I worked for?
As Frumuseţe, though, well, I could explore to my heart's content. Dogs were naturally curious, especially in a new place; it wouldn't look out of character if I were to slip out of sight and do some perusing. Just unassumingly search the apartment for any telling signs of HYDRA, of any schemes he was up to.
So, while he slowly removed his cap and sunglasses, I slunk toward the bathroom. It was somewhat dirty, a pile of used towels on the floor and a partially moldy shower curtain shoved off to one side. Next, I wandered toward a small closet, the door ajar, situated down a small alcove just beside the front door. Nudging the door open further, I was grateful for the ability to see in the dim light far better than in my human form. Glancing over it from top to bottom, I saw only a few shirts slung haphazardly over crooked hangers and a few spiders scuttling across the floor.
There was nowhere else to search, small as the place was, so I backed out of the closet and made my way back to Bucky.
Nothing.
Not a single weapon that I could see; he could have had one hidden, though I wouldn't know for certain unless – until – I could do a truly thorough search of his apartment. Of course, that would require him leaving me alone in his home, which I couldn't be sure he was willing to do. I could, after all, shit on his mattress if he didn't keep me with him.
My hasty inspection was completed and my stomach clenched. The apartment was small, shabby, his belongings few and far between; I couldn't say I liked it, but it was now my home, as well, for as long as the soldier wanted me around.
Shaking my head, I sat in the center of the room, staring up at him in silence. He didn't seem to notice at first; he was standing before the rattling refrigerator, a hand resting atop it. His head was down, his shoulders taut; tentatively, I crept to his side, gazing up under his arm at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his jaw clenching wildly.
Swallowing thickly, I let out a cautious whine, pawing anxiously at the cracked, wooden flooring. I rose to my feet, more than ready to bolt if he turned on me, but he simply cracked an eye open, skinning it at me.
Brows pitching upward, I tipped my head to one side, whining again.
He shook his head as though ridding himself of unwanted thoughts and pushed himself away from the fridge. There was a small black book in his metal hand and he raised it in my direction, lips pursed. He gave it a slight shake and sighed, trudging over to the mattress and throwing himself on it.
He was far more relaxed than he had been in the market, clearly relieved that he no longer had to look over his shoulder every five seconds for the next threat.
He should've been looking directly in front of him.
Reaching his metal hand over his shoulder, he tugged the jacket over his head, never bothering to unzip it, and tossed it toward the end of the bed. He sat cross-legged in the center of the mattress, shoulders hunched as he flipped the little book to the next available page.
"You just gonna sit there and stare at me?"
Yes.
Because he just unveiled the full extent of his HYDRA-produced arm. Wearing a simple white wifebeater, the arm in its entirety was visible, from the red star on his shoulder to the red, puckered skin around the edge of the prosthesis. It was muscular, like his remaining human arm, and plated in thin strips. He used it as easily as the other, as well, his hands and fingers moving fluidly, unlike any robotic arm I had seen in any movie, or even in Tony Stark's collection. The HYDRA creation that caused hundreds, thousands of people so much pain.
Himself, probably, included.
But dogs didn't realize things like that and I tore my attention from it and glanced at his face. He didn't lift his head, but at my movement, his gaze flitted up to me from underneath thick dark lashes, brows high on his forehead.
Rising to all fours, I moved closer to him, hedging around the mattress cautiously. It didn't smell all that pleasant; I had the feeling it had been left behind by the previous tenant.
Hope he didn't kill 'im, I mused idly, lifting my nose and sniffing, no blood. That's a plus…
Still, I couldn't complain; not only had I not mastered a human voice in this form, that would be weird as fuck if I started explaining why I, a scrawny, floppy-eared mutt, was reluctant to lay on his mattress.
So I hopped up, sniffing his jacket just for good measure - at least that smells good - and lowered myself onto my belly. Crossing my paws one over the other, I cocked my head at him.
He reached a hand, his real one this time, over and scratched behind my ear and under my chin. This hand was rough, calloused, but gentle in its touch; I couldn't deny that it felt nice.
"What am I supposed to call you?" he queried softly, running his free hand through his hair and scratching absently at his temple, "I could just keep callin' you 'Frumuseţe.' It does suit you. I think- I might've had a dog once, or someone- someone I knew had a dog… I think its name was Rover, or Spot… something like that."
A low growl rumbled through me and he smirked, "Okay, so no Rover, no Spot. I got nothin' else. Frumuseţe it is."
If I could have hummed in agreement, I would have; instead I simply lowered my head onto my paws and glanced from him to the book. I caught him staring at me for a moment longer from the corner of my eye before he returned his attention to it as well.
He began jotting notes into it, tapping the pen cap against his lips every now and again in contemplation. I inched closer, nosing at the worn pages. He chided me but continued writing, allowing me a chance to read over what he had written.
He had a tally of the number of times he had thought he caught someone watching him too closely. He wrote down how Constantine reminded him of someone he had known in the forties, followed by a list of names all starting with the letter M and ending in question marks. He noted that he remembered a dog, Spot or Rover, that he once knew. A dalmatian maybe.
"I don't remember a lot," he commented suddenly, hesitantly, tapping his words with the pen, "but when I do, I write it down. If helps me… sort things out."
It made sense. I had dealt with a handful of people in my SHIELD days who had dealt with memory loss, be it from an injury or traumatic experience. I couldn't say his wasn't from both. I was well-versed in the history of Captain America and the Howling Commandos. I knew that HYDRA had captured him, experimented on him, before he had fallen off of that train. And afterwards… who knew what all they did to him to mold him into the perfect killing machine?
From his description in every history museum from from New York to LA, not to mention Steve Rogers himself, he wouldn't have gone willingly.
For him to have escaped all of that and not had some sort of memory trauma would have been shocking.
Still, my interest was piqued; if I had the opportunity, I would like to stick my nose in the rest of that book. Did he remember Steve? His life before HYDRA? Did he write his feelings in it, as well? His thoughts on HYDRA and what he had done for them?
Barnes closed the notebook, tossing it away from him, a disgruntled frown marring his scruffy face. He threw himself back on the mattress, eyes drifting shut and metal fingers digging into them.
"Christ," he muttered, rolling onto his side toward me, allowing me a closer glance at his silver arm. I inched closer, nosing his hand, and sniffing over his arm in the guise of examining it closely. It was beautiful; deadly, but beautiful. Shiny and smooth, made of vibranium, no doubt, perhaps adamantium; I couldn't be certain, though, I was no expert.
"You're the first one who hasn't looked at this like it makes me some kind of monster," he commented, startling me from my perusal.
Glancing up at him, I noticed the grateful glimmer in his bright eyes, the genuine smile - small as it was - stretching across his mouth. It turned sad, though, and he drew his lower lip into his mouth, exhaling heavily through his nose, "It does, though. I am a monster."
He looked so damn upset, his gaze turning distant as he stared at the wall; I slowly crawled my way toward him. Breathing heavily through my nose, I fought to settle my pounding heart and nudged my way beneath his metal arm.
He flinched, surprised, and I stilled, staring up at him with wide eyes. He gazed down at me, brows pinched in confusion, before he slowly drew me to his chest and rested his chin atop my head.
Cuddling with the Winter Soldier.
Nick Fury would have my ass.
/
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please comment and let me know :D I know it might be a little slow at the moment, but she in her Charlie form shall make an appearance soon!
Iaurhil: Thank you! I'm glad you like it so far!
Lily Noir: Aw thanks! I hope you enjoy this chapter too
Nightbloodwolf: Thank you! I was hoping people would like how I started it! She won't stay in this form; I've got some plans for her Charlie form haha. But it hopefully won't start out too slowly.
NESSAANCALIME6913: yeah, hopefully I can make it seem realistic when she does. He definitely won't be happy but I've got some ideas for where to take it :)
NoVacancyMind: Thank you! I'm really glad you think so!
Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967: Thank you so much!
Guest: Thank you so much! I really appreciate it!
Kallmered: thank you! I hope I can keep your interest to the end haha
Robbers: Thanks! I appreciate that! Hope you like this chapter too!