Just a quick reminder not to expect any insta-romance from me. It's not my style.
I only own Ivy Bennett and the other OCs.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
"What are you doing here?" Ivy asked, her voice hollow. He peered up at her through his curtain of dark hair.
"I had nowhere to go."
"How did you get here?"
"Your car."
"You mean to tell me you were fast enough to chase my car?"
"No."
"Then how did you get here?"
"I climbed into the backseat."
Ivy paused. That was completely possible; she drove a Volkswagen Beetle, and she'd had the top down when she'd had her encounter with the ghost.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Why come to me? I'll bet you have friends," she said, shifting uncomfortably.
"I technically don't."
Silence, then Ivy spoke. "And...?"
"And you're the first person I've seen today who's seemed vaguely calm about my appearance."
In truth, she wasn't calm, at least not on the inside. She had been screaming and burning down buildings in her mind.
"What makes you think I'd let you stay?" she inquired.
"Because I'd be inclined to shoot you if you don't."
Ivy paled and felt like she was about to collapse. Oliver would be here any second, and there was a man on her doorstep threatening to kill her. Her mind shut down, and one shaking hand slowly reached for the phone on the table behind the door. Her eyes flickered towards the small keys, her slender finger hovering over the nine.
Breathe in—
"Don't even think about calling anyone. I've dealt with that more than enough times, and you couldn't fight me off on your own," he growled softly. "Will you let me stay?"
With a gulp, Ivy stepped aside and beckoned him in.
Breathe out.
He said to call him Bucky. He didn't sound so sure.
"Bucky, I suppose," he had said. "That's what he called me."
A normal name for a ghost, Ivy reckoned, but as she made him soup, she had one hand white-knuckling a knife. His eyes held fast to that hand, his metal fingers brushing against his own dagger absentmindedly. She didn't know why he didn't just kill her now, but she certainly wasn't complaining.
Shaking, she slid the bowl of soup to the ghost, who sniffed it and prodded at it. After various inspections, he took a sip, and before long, the bowl was back at the pot and ready for a refill.
Why didn't you poison him, stupid girl? She admonished herself as she scrutinized the ghost through dead, green cat-eyes.
Because I don't have poison, that's why. Now go away.
"I feel kinda bad for you, but—" Ivy stopped as his hand moved from the dagger to the gun. Apparently he didn't make empty promises. "—I'll give you money to stay at a hotel, but that's it. Food, money, maybe some of my brother's clothes when he gets here, but no more."
"I don't want to stay at a hotel," he said, narrowing his eyes.
"What, like you wanna stay here?"
"Not necessarily."
"Hotel it is."
"But I don't want a hotel, either."
"And why not?"
"More people. They like to snoop."
Ivy rolled her eyes. This ghost was getting to be more trouble than he was worth (as if he wasn't trouble from the start). She wanted to tell him he couldn't stay, but she didn't exactly want a bullet in her temple. She should have just stayed at her exploding office.
Turning on the news, she nabbed a piece of celery from the clam chowder she'd passed the ghost.
"—left on the beach, shield missing and covered in multiple—"
"—and a tragic day—"
"—but why hide S.H.I.E.L.D.? Are Americans really safe with—"
"Can you believe this crap?" Ivy muttered. "I always thought they sold weight-loss pills."
Silence.
"—witnesses say—"
"—leaving the scene. This man is armed and dangerous and should be reported immediately—"
"—five foot eleven male in his late twenties or early thirties, and had a bionic arm—"
Ivy choked on her celery and turned to stare at the ghost, wide-eyed and terrified. He sighed.
"Relax."
"How?" Ivy squawked. "You almost killed Captain America!"
"Steve," he said, clearing his throat almost awkwardly. Almost humanly. "I'm very sure his name is Steve. I knew him."
Breathe in.
"Please just let me stay."
Breathe out.
"Okay, I guess."
Breathe in—
"Thank you."
Breathe out.
Ivy paced in a panic, holding her inhaler to her lips. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were wild, and the ghost sat on the couch still as a statue as his eyes followed her back and forth across the living room.
"Where is he?" she shrieked a high note, nearly hyperventilating. The last thing she needed was a panic attack.
"Where is who?" he asked almost politely.
"My brother, Oliver. He was supposed to stay."
"Oh?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Don't give me that tone. I'd have sent him away, but why hasn't he called?"
"Why don't you call him first?"
Ivy stopped pacing and turned to sneer at the ghost so bitterly that even he winced (only a bit).
"Yes, because I certainly haven't thought of that."
With that, she continued pacing, as the ghost furrowed his eyebrows and looked away.
"You say that, but I haven't seen you pick up the phone once."
"Oh, really? 'And don't even think about calling anyone, or else I'll kill you,'" Ivy said in a mocking tone. In truth, she felt somewhat bad about treating the ghost like this, and she knew taking her frustration out on him was harsh. Still, he was the unwanted one in this household.
The ghost sighed.
"I'm not that cruel."
"Could have fooled me."
Without warning, he tossed the phone at her, hitting her squarely in the temple.
"Ow!" she yelped, raising her hand to the violated spot.
"I'm sorry, are you alright?" Bucky asked, a concerned look crossing his face, then turning to one of confusion. He pursed his lips and frowned, staring at the wall like he was wondering why he had just asked this expendable girl about her well-being and why he had apologized.
Ivy coughed nervously— this was the most human she'd seen him since his arrival.
"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks."
She stooped to pick up the phone and dialed Oliver's number, placing her hand on her forehead and rubbing her temples as she felt the ghost's eyes scrutinize her every move, making sure she didn't dial nine-one-one.
"Ivy! Ive, you alright? You nearly gave me a heart attack! Ivy? Ivy?"
"Oliver!" Ivy nearly collapsed from relief, and an instinct told her that her brother did the same. Instead, she sat on the couch adjacent to the ghost, biting her lip as she tried to keep calm. "Where are you? You said eight, Oliver! It's past eleven!"
"Well, sorry a huge whatever that was crashed into your office building! All the planes were grounded. How was I supposed to get to you?"
Ivy took a gulp from her inhaler.
"And you couldn't have called?"
"I have about a million times; it's your fault you didn't answer."
"Right. You're not coming?"
"What, you want me to drive there from Russia?" Oliver asked. Ivy could imagine his wry smirk on the other end of the line.
"Shut up."
"Love you too, sis."
Ivy gulped.
"Miss you."
"And you think I don't miss you?"
Ivy was about to retort when angry Russian shouting lit up the earpiece.
"I gotta go, Ivy. Stay safe," Oliver shouted desperately into the phone before hanging up.
Ivy swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at the ghost.
"My brother's not coming, so I guess that means you're stuck in that abomination until tomorrow," Ivy said to him.
"Abomination?"
"Yes. That looks deadly uncomfortable. I can't imagine it with guns strapped all over you."
"Hm."
Ivy had had the ghost unload his weapons (all but a gun and a knife, since he'd insisted) into the cupboard under the kitchen sink, making sure they were hidden in case somebody decided to stop by.
"Sorry, but you have to sleep in that," she said, getting up and jutting her index finger at his outfit. She headed to a closet and produced a pillow and a blanket that was much too small for him. "Sorry," she said. "But it's the best I can do."
"Thank you," Bucky said.
Ivy was curled up on her bed, her petite form nested in a cocoon of blankets.
She craned her neck to look at her door's lock one more time.
I suppose I should add Ivy Bennett and Oliver to the list of my OCs.
Reviews keep me going, so review, please!