A/N: Hi All,

I actually have no idea if anyone is actually enjoying this story, but I'm on a role and have a small window of time that I can allocate towards writing, so I guess I'll stick with it.

Also, I know that I haven't described what Grace looks like yet - I'm actually really bad at stuff like that, hence why I find fanfiction relaxing (cause normally everybody already knows what the characters are supposed to look like).

Anyway, I'll give a description of her appearance in the next chapter I think - from Bucky's perspective.

In the mean time, I hope you enjoy.

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I don't mind you staying here, but I really need you to tell me who you are…

For what was probably the 50th time that morning, Grace repeated that sentence to herself in her head. She hadn't seen the mystery man since the night before when he had marched off to the bathroom after she had practically ordered him to take a shower. And now, with the clock drawing closer and closer to 8am, she was sure he would be emerging from the spare bedroom soon.

She needed to be ready when he did.

Absent-mindedly preparing a hot breakfast for herself and her guest, she continued to repeat the sentence to herself. If there was one thing she had managed to gauge about this guy, it was that he definitely wasn't a sharer – in fact, he had yet to utter a single word to her. Which was exactly why she needed to be firm and direct with him when the time came; she didn't mind him staying with her (for now), but if he was planning on sticking around, then she needed to have at least some idea of who he was.

In all honesty, she had been up most of the night contemplating what she was going to do with him.

She still wasn't entirely sure why she had invited him in to begin with, but she certainly didn't regret doing it – not yet, anyway. This guy – whoever he was – needed help. He may not have said a word he her, but there were some things that didn't need saying.

Like the fact that he clearly hadn't showered or shaved in days, hell, maybe even weeks! Judging from the bags under his eyes, he was completely exhausted, and she'd bet all she had that he was dealing with a fair bit of trauma as well; after all, it wasn't exactly normal to be so eerily silent.

And to top it all off, Grace was also 100% convinced that he didn't have anywhere else to go.

She hadn't decided how long she was willing to let him stay with her just yet, but she knew she had the power to help him, even if it was only in the tiniest of ways. And that was exactly what she was going to do – if he actually let her, that is.

She was pushing down the toaster when she heard the door open. This was it. Game time.

She heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen.

Come on, Grace! She internally chided, you can do this….

Knowing she would probably lose her nerve if she didn't get it out now, she didn't even bother to turn around before she started speaking. She just blurted out the words she'd been rehearsing all morning.

"I don't mind you staying here, but I really need you to tell me-" she whipped around to face him, "Oh my God, you're a robot!"

He had a metal arm. Not like a prosthetic arm, but an actual arm made out of metal. The left one.

How had she not noticed that?

…The trench coat.

It was that goddamn trench coat! She was an idiot, she'd practically broken rule number one of every television crime show ever: never trust a trench coat!

And now, as he stood before her, wearing a pair of her brother's sweatpants and an old t-shirt, she had an almost unobscured view of the metallic appendage.

She must have stood there staring with her mouth open for close to two minutes – the metal man still saying nothing, of course. So, when she finally regained the ability to talk, she couldn't help but blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

"Is this the part where you kill me?"

The room was silent then for several more minutes… until he spoke.

"You're afraid."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. One that sounded rather disappointed. Or maybe she was just imagining the disappointment, maybe she imagining that he had said anything at all…

"Did you… did you just say something?"

"You're afraid." He repeated. A little louder this time, and with definite disappointment. Although she didn't exactly understand why.

"No…", she replied, shaking her head slightly, "I think I'm just… surprised. Firstly because you have a… a… well that-", she gestured to his left arm, "and secondly because you actually just said something to me. I wasn't sure you were ever going to…"

"So, you're not afraid?" His tone more questioning this time.

She chuckled slightly to herself before answering, "It would definitely make more sense if I was, wouldn't it?"

He didn't say anything this time, but she wasn't about the let her opportunity pass her by. Since seeing his metal arm several minutes ago something had been tugging at her mind, and now, when she coupled the arm with the long hair and seemingly-fugitive status…

"I think I saw you."

He met her eyes again, confusion marring his features. He remained silent however, so she continued.

"You were on the news. A few weeks ago. There were all those attacks on Captain America, and those… things falling from the sky. I saw you, didn't I?"

He still refused to say anything, but this time, she wasn't going settle for silence.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know this is probably hard for you," her tone changed from soft and inquisitive to one that was more firm. It wasn't a tone she used very often, but she found it was good to have for special occasions. Like right now.

"…But if you're going to stay here, even if it's just for a little while, then I need to know if you're the man I saw on the news."

After several seconds, he nodded.

"Okay," she continued, still adopting her assertive tone. "Are you going to kill me?"

Her voice was steady as she posed the question, and she didn't hesitate to meet his eyes. She had meant it when she said she wasn't afraid of him. Even though she knew that she probably should be – especially now.

"No." He surprised her; she hadn't expected him to offer a verbal response after he had reverted back to silence again so soon. "I won't hurt you."

"Good to know." She replied, her voice instantly becoming light and happy once more. "Now, breakfast is pretty much ready, so take seat at the table and I'll be with you in a minute."

She didn't bother to watch him as she walked to the table, she merely turned back to the toast that had just popped up and began buttering it.

Several minutes later she approached the kitchen table, a full plate in each hand. She deftly placed one down in front of him before sitting down opposite him and starting on her own meal. She didn't miss the look of confusion on the metal man's features either, but it wasn't long before he seemed to put his worries aside in favour of food.

It was around the time that he had cleaned his plate and she was half way through hers that she broke the silence, "You must have been hungry, 'cause I know for a fact that my cooking's not that good…"

He said nothing, causing her to roll her eyes. "Okay, I understand if you're not a chatterbox-type of person, but I think it would be good if you started introducing more verbal responses into these little chats." She used her hand to gesture between the two of them. "At the very least, it would make me feel less like I'm a crazy person who's taken to talking to herself…"

He stayed silent for a few minutes after that, and it was right at the point that she had convinced herself he wasn't going to respond that he finally spoke up.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say." He didn't meet her eyes as she said it, almost as though he was embarrassed, or perhaps ashamed.

Even though his gaze was still focused on his empty plate, she was sure he would be able to hear the smile in her voice.

"You're supposed to say what you think…" she offered gently.

He looked up at her now, his eyes taking on a haunted look. "In my experience, saying what's on your mind only ever brings you pain."

Her breath caught in her throat at that and her heart went out to him. She had no idea what he had been through, or what side he stood on… it didn't matter though.

Nobody deserved that.

Not really knowing what she could say, she settled for something simple.

"Not here. I don't know what happened to you in other places, but as long as you're here, you're free to think, and feel, and say whatever you want."

After several more moments of silence, he answered, "I'll try, but I don't think I can promise anything."

"I think I can live with that." She smiled at him. And with that, she stood and began clearing their plates.

"Now, there's just one more thing I need to know for right now," she called from her position at the sink. "And that is what I should call you…"

She finished rinsing the dishes, turning to face him just in time to see him shrug. She promptly frowned at him.

"I don't know," he answered. "People call me lots of different things…"

"Like what?" she prompted.

"Asset… Soldier… 17 sometimes."

"17? As in, the number 17?"

He nodded.

Grace let out a quick snort before responding, "Yeah, I'm not going to call you that."

"Why?" He asked, confused.

"Because." She stated. "You're a human being, and human beings have names… not numbers for God's sake. Do you have a name?"

He shrugged again, "Yeah, but… It doesn't really feel like it's my name anymore."

"Okay, what was it? Your name?"

He shook his head slightly, "I used to get called 'Bucky', but… I don't know. I don't feel like I know who that is."

"Bucky?" she echoed. She knew that one. She'd had to hear it about a million times during her high school history classes – Captain America and his Howling Commandos were legendary after all…

He nodded again.

She sighed, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms over her chest. "Let me guess, they called you 'Bucky', but your full name is something along the lines of 'James Buchanan Barnes'?"

"I'm guessing you've been to the museum too?"

She laughed, "Something like that." She could feel a headache coming on; this was a lot more information than she had been ready for this morning. Moving back to her seat at the table, she continued.

"Okay, so you don't want me to call you 'Bucky', does that mean 'James' is okay?"

"I read that I hated being called that…"

"Do you though? …Hate being called 'James'?"

"I don't think so…" he replied after several seconds. "At least not right now."

"Good. It's settled then." She announced happily, "James it is. At least for now."

He nodded slowly, as though coming to terms with the name.

"What about you?" he questioned

"What about me?"

"What should I call you?"

"Oh. Right, of course." She smiled at him pleasantly before holding out her hand across the table for him to shake. Hesitantly he extended his own hand – the flesh one – and gave hers a half-hearted shake.

"I'm Grace."