Monster

Even though I already knew that Bucky had a hand in killing the Stark family, it was difficult for me to think about it as I watched him mow my lawn. It wasn’t that I blamed him for what happened. I knew that he hadn’t been in his right mind when they were killed, but I also knew this was going to cause a lot of problems for—well everyone. My parents worshiped the Stark family, my sister, despite her seemingly constant irritation, was in love with Tony. And Tony, despite his pretend irritation, was equally in love with her. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I told one of the most dangerous men in the world that another one of the most dangerous men in the world had killed his parents.

Howard Stark had saved my grandparents’ lives. If he hadn’t gone into that alley that night, I might not have ever existed. And if I didn’t exist then I wouldn’t be able to help Bucky in my own small way. It was all a big complicated mess. And all I could do was pray that Tony never found out the truth. But Tony was good at finding information that was kept from him. Even if it didn’t pertain to him. And I was certain he was gathering as much information on Bucky as he could now that his girlfriend’s little sister was involved.

Bucky’s hair was pulled back up out of his face again. I thought about taking him to get it cut so that he would look less like the Winter Soldier and more like Sergeant James Barnes, or maybe just an ordinary guy who happened to wear gloves a lot. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him about it. I liked it too much. I knew that was selfish, but I figured we would talk about it if the situation got any worse.

I had already mowed the front yard, and I decided to have him do the back. The backyard was smaller, and it was too hot for him to be wearing his hoodie and gloves. So I gave him the backyard so he could have his arm exposed and not have to worry about my neighbor’s calling the cops over a guy mowing the lawn with a robotic limb.

He was wearing a tank-top and sweatpants that I picked up for him while we were out. And if it weren't for the fact that his arm was reflecting sunlight and had a big Soviet star on the side, he would have looked like an average guy. An average guy who didn’t seem to know how to use a modern gas powered lawn mower.

It didn’t require that much of a push, but he stopped on occasion to shake out his metal hand. It seemed to be bothering him even more than the one that had been broken. He swore it was completely healed, but the doctor in me wanted him to wait. It was clear now that he used his right hand as his dominant hand, even when it was broken. He used it to help me put dishes away. He used it to eat. He used it to touch me. He used his left hand when he needed a weapon. The only time I’d ever seen it in action was when he shoved me against the counter when I’d woken him from a nightmare, and when he’d broken that plate and dropped the milk. Maybe I had been too distracted by his broken wrist to realize something was wrong with the other one. I could mend flesh and bone; I couldn’t mend metal and machinery.

Then I thought about what he’d told me that night after he came back after the first time. He said he meant to hurt me. Which meant, if he had full control over that arm he very well could have snapped my collarbone. Which also meant, when I woke him up from his nightmare the night before, he very well could have crushed my wrist into little shards of bone.

Maybe I was lucky that his arm wasn’t working properly. But I actually found it a little bothersome. It wasn’t that I wanted him to hurt me. It was just that all along I had attributed his lack of any real damage to his desire to be a better person. In truth, it was just because the damn thing wasn’t working. Which meant he never intended to be gentle with me at all. And those kids that made the mistake of trying to mug him that night? They’d probably be dead.

Even though he was struggling to push the mower, I let him continue. I could have got up and helped him, or I could have just done it myself, but he seemed determined to get it where he wanted. And he kept muttering to himself. I thought the muttering was a healthy sign. It meant his brain was focused on the task and not whatever his memories were churning up in there. The Winter Soldier had been a silent killer. He’d worn a restricting muzzle and never made a sound until he’d been under emotional distress. Bucky Barnes was pushing a mower across my backyard in sweatpants complaining about the heat and the machine not working.

That had to mean progress, right?

I knew Tony could probably very easily get the arm working properly again. In fact, he probably could have made it better. He could give Bucky more control over it. He could make it less dangerous. Maybe even less easy to notice. But I couldn’t risk Tony finding out about Bucky’s involvement in the death of his parents. The man acted like nothing in the world could bother him, but I saw his face at Thanksgiving when he’d come to Ohio for dinner. My dad mentioned how much Howard meant to our family. Tony didn’t like talking about him, and I didn’t want to be there when he finally got that information.

Eventually, Bucky managed to get the rest of the lawn halfway decent. I decided not to be too meticulous about it because I never did it anyway. I just thought it would give us something to do, and letting him do normal boring things seemed to help. Plus it might be easier for him to blend into society if he could do normal boring civilian things. Even if living a life like that would never be an option.

The rest of our day really only included junk food and family friendly television. Clara and I were both Tvland fans because that’s all our parents watched when we were growing up. So I turned on some reruns of The Andy Griffith Show, and we sat down on the couch to watch with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of candy. Though I think he felt really out of place and maybe even anxious.

“This is an excellent episode,” I told him as I scooped up a handful of popcorn.

“I’ve never seen it,” he said.

“Well, it’s good. I mean—this is the episode where Andy learns not to be a sexist dick. It’s ahead of its time. It’s my sister’s favorite episode.”

“What’s your favorite episode?” I chewed on my popcorn and thought it over.

“My favorite episode is the one where Opie accidentally kills the bird.”

“Why?” he asked me.

“It makes me cry.”

“You like things that make you cry?” I wiped the salt from my hands onto my jeans.

“No, I just like things that make me feel.”

“Is that why you kissed me?” Then I choked on a popcorn kernel and leaned forward to get it out of my throat, and also buy myself more time to answer that question. And then I still couldn’t find one, so I sat there for a minute watching Andy get his ass handed to him by a girl with a gun. So he could learn his lesson about equality.

“Yeah,” I finally said. “That’s why I kissed you.”

“What did you feel?” he asked.

“You ask a lot of really difficult questions.” I rubbed my eyes. I really didn’t want to answer him. I’d been avoiding it all day, and he hadn’t said a word about it until now.

“I was just curious.” I sighed heavily and inwardly groaned.

“It made me feel—a lot of things.”

“Then how can you say it’s not real?” I blew out heavily and focused on the TV screen.

“I can’t say it’s not real,” I admitted. “If I feel it then it has to be real, right? I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. Because there’s a lot more we have to do before we can get involved in something like that.”

“You said yourself that it might take years for me to feel human again. The world isn’t going to forgive me for what I’ve done. I’m never going to have a normal life, Jo.”

“It’s not about—being human. It’s about it being too soon. You need time to heal and regain your sense of self before you can—”

“Before I can what? You’re the only person that makes me feel human.” I turned toward him and crossed my legs on the couch so that I could face him. He seemed comfortable in my living room now. His metal arm was draped over the cushion. His right arm was stretched across the back behind me. Stubble was growing on his chin again.

“What if that’s just it, Bucky? What if that’s the only reason? Like when ducks imprint on the first person they see. What if that’s all this is?”

“Why does it have to fit a certain mold to be real?”

“Because I know what it’s like when you find out something isn’t what you thought it was. I know how much it hurts because you were so eager to push something you weren’t ready for. Like when you have a really good dream, and you wake up and realized none of it actually happened. Or maybe it just doesn’t happen the way you thought it would.”

“All of my good dreams are about you.” I sighed heavily and looked down at my bare feet as I tucked them under my legs.

“I just feel like a bad person,” I admitted.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you’ve gone through something traumatic and horrible, and I know that you’re trying really hard, but you’re not there yet. And I don’t want you to relapse because of me.”

“You’re the only reason I’m here. I’ve made it this far because of you. I don’t want to disappoint you. Being around you—feeling comfortable around you—helps me remember Bucky. Being him. I know that I’ll never be normal. But you’re the only person who makes it feel like a possibility.” I glanced up at him, and he was already looking down at me. “You make me want to be human again.” I smiled. “I don’t mean to push you. I’ve just lived long enough to know how valuable the truth is when you might not have long enough to tell it.” I took a deep breath.

“I understand. And—I do—feel things—for you,” I told him. “And I feel awful for feeling that way because I feel like there’s so much more you need to do before you’re ready for that. And I don’t—I don’t know if I’m willing to give up my life just yet.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jo.”

I gave him another smile and put my hand on his cheek to pull him closer. I kissed him softly at first and then I felt his hand on the back of my head as he drew me close. But I pulled away and ran my fingers down his chest. Then I turned back around to face the TV, and we didn’t say another word.

Notes

Sorry for taking so long! A friend of mine came over and then we proceeded to power marathon Bob Ross videos. So have more smoochie smoochies and squishy squishies.

And in case anyone is wondering, the bird episode of the Andy Griffith show does make me cry every time. But my favorite is the one she said was Clara's favorite. Where the girl Andy likes challenges him to a gun shooting competition and he tells her to "stand back" because he doesn't want her to "hurt her pretty little self." And she kicks his ass and it's GREAT. There's also another great episode where the girl pharmacist decides to run for city counsel and all the men are having a fit about it but all the women are backing her. And Andy's being a dick and he's like "Girls are supposed to think about shopping and blah blah." And she's like "Nah son. Fuck off." And it's just... quality television. Way ahead of it's time. I love Tvland, I'm sorry.