If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's avoiding me.
Given that the new house came with furniture, and since Sena was chill about keeping my old stuff, moving the remaining things over didn't take too long. And though Bucky helped with the move, he vanished once handed the other pair of keys. I'm not even sure if he ever came back over the weekend to sleep.
I've tried not to dwell on it; he probably has things to do… as do I, now that this teaching position has been thrust on me.
It's Monday night now, and I've all but forgotten about him as I go over my last few slides on exemplar theory.
It starts with a rustle of paper, and before I know it, the itch is spreading like waves throughout the lecture hall: the sound of laptops closing, books shoved haphazardly into backpacks, zippers slowly done up in anticipation.
I glance up at the wall-mounted clock as I continue talking, but I know it's already too late. There are only five minutes left of the class, and it's pretty clear that no one's paying attention to a single word I'm saying.
"I have two more slides…"
There's an audible groan, and I watch the hope drain from the faces of the students in the first few rows.
"Well, why don't we leave them for Wednesday?" I feign a sigh, but a smile breaks out on my face when I hear the quiet murmurs of relief and gratitude. Poor kids. I sympathize with them. I was the same, not too long ago. Three-hour evening lectures suck.
The noise picks up while I log out of the computer, as the students put their things away and discuss their plans for the rest of the evening. A few enthusiastic souls meander down the steps to ask me questions about the material, and I humour them with my remaining energy.
Said energy doesn't last long though; there are still two students in line when the clock reads 9:10, and I really, really want to go home.
"Listen, why don't you guys come to my office hours tomorrow? You can ask me whatever you want for the whole two hours." I smile at them, hoping they'll have mercy when they read the suffering in my eyes.
Relenting, they're about to leave when one of them hesitates.
"Do you need a walk to the parking lot, Ms. Summers? It's pretty dark out." He offers me a hopeful smile.
"No, I'll be—"
I pause mid-sentence as I notice the lone figure sitting in an aisle seat near the top of the lecture hall stairs.
Takes me a second to recognize that it's Bucky. He's dressed in the same gear he wore as an assassin for Hydra: the leather jacket, body armour and cargo pants. Quite a departure from the American Eagle button-downs and jeans the other students are wearing.
"I'll be fine." I finish my reply, giving Bucky a small wave. He stands, making his way down the steps.
The students bid me goodnight as they leave, their gazes lingering briefly on the man in black as they pass him. Would it be rude if I asked him to dress a little less... conspicuously... on campus?
Well, I can't complain too much. It's nice to see his face again, despite how stupid that sounds. It's only been like three days.
"How did you know where I'd be?" I pick up my bag as I head towards the side exit.
"I visited Dr. Nikolav this afternoon to talk about the job. He told me."
"Did he tell you to walk me home?" I push the door open, stepping outside.
"No. I wanted to see you teach." When he meets my gaze, his blue eyes boring into me, I feel like my heart has stopped. There's a silence, and we're both momentarily grounded outside the doorway. A light evening breeze flutters across my face, carrying with it the sounds of student voices and laughter.
"Well, I'm really glad you came." I smile.
"I thought you'd be mad." He rubs the back of his neck.
"Why? You're always welcome. I won't tell anyone."
He doesn't say anything, and after a few minutes I steal a glance at him. His hands are in his pockets, his eyes focused on the ground ahead of him. I don't mind the silence, but I can't help the feeling that there's some tension sitting on his shoulders.
We're about 5 minutes from the house when he finally speaks again.
"Actually, Elise, I was wondering if you could help me with a project." He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his brown locks off of his forehead.
"What kind of project?"
Considering the last favour he asked for involved guns and dead people… Hesitance is justifiable, right?
"Dr. Nikolav… asked me to help translate some things for him. He said he doesn't have time to translate them himself." He pulls some folded papers out of his jacket and hands them to me.
I pause under a streetlight as I try to make out the writing. Looks like a standard journal article, but the language isn't English.
"Isn't this… Russian?" I raise a vexed eyebrow at him, "I don't know any Russian, Bucky. If I did, Nikolav would've asked me."
"It's not the Russian part I need your help with. It's the brain part. I need an explanation of the concepts." He replies. I take a few seconds to process that statement before the obvious revelation hits me.
"Wait, you know Russian?"
If my eyebrows could fly cartoonishly off my face, I'm pretty sure they would have done that.
"And German, French… Why are you surprised?" There's a smirk on his face as he begins to walk ahead, leaving me standing at the streetlight, mouth agape like a fool. I speed up to catch up to him, but we've already reached the house door anyway.
"I thought you didn't… I mean, that you weren't—"
"Educated?" He raises an eyebrow at me, a sober expression on his face.
"No, I didn't… I wasn't—It's just that…" I eventually clamp my mouth shut to stop the stammering, feeling the heat rise to my ears.
An amused smile pulls at his lips. I can't help but feel like he's mocking me, and that makes the embarrassment ten times worse.
"Ty milaya."
"What does that mean?" I busy myself with finding the right key on my lanyard, avoiding his gaze at all costs.
"Help me with that job and maybe I'll teach you."
Well, I'm glad he's back to the friendly banter at least. I was beginning to think he disliked me after his post-move disappearance.
"Fine. But one-on-one tutoring isn't my strength." I frown, pushing the door open.
"I'm sure you'll be fine." He turns and steps back onto the sidewalk.
Oh. He's planning to disappear tonight too.
"You're leaving?"
"I have someone to visit."
His smile is fainter now, and it suggests the 'visit' is not a friendly one.
"Alright… stay safe." I step into the house. By the time I've turned around to close the door, he's gone. It's like he was never there at all.
It's not until I've kicked my shoes off and settled on the couch that I realize… I never asked how Dr. Nikolav knew Bucky could speak Russian in the first place.
Looks like there's a conversation I need to have with that resourceful supervisor of mine.