Monster

If I ever had to pick the perfect housemate, it would be Steve Rogers. He didn’t stay with me every night, but whenever he did my house always ended up magically cleaner than it had been before he arrived. He was quiet too. We talked in soft voices because we hardly knew what to say and didn’t want our discomfort with each other to be overheard. But he cooked, he cleaned, and when he was upstairs he didn’t stomp on the floor and shake the light fixtures.

I say this because my ex-boyfriend, Agent Oscar Harman, had done that exact thing. Whenever he came to stay with me, which was often because he didn’t like his neighbors, he would leave behind a trail of garbage. He would walk around upstairs and stomp on the floor so that the lights rattled and I could never concentrate. He didn’t cook, he didn’t clean, and he sang. God, he sang awful.

He was the only boyfriend I’d had since I was discharged. He was a SHIELD agent. Scratch that. HYDRA. And I didn’t know that. No one did. But I had seen something in him. I didn’t know what it was at the time. But I knew it was something dark. It was a hunger for power and control. Something was off. And not just because he stomped around my house like a triceratops. But because he felt the need to shove me into my refrigerator over an argument about dirty laundry. And then I had him pinned to the floor with my favorite pink switchblade pressed to his throat.

I won’t lie. He was well trained and he could have snapped my neck with his pinky finger. I was ex-special forces, I was a medic, I was trained, and I was damn good. But he was an ex-marine and he was much much bigger than me. He hadn’t been the least bit threatened by my bedazzled switchblade. He just laughed in my face and it took everything I had to not give him a little cut.

I made him leave and he went crying to SHIELD about my “erratic behavior.” They did an inquiry and determined they were “concerned” about my tendency to “snap.” But allowed me to keep my gun and my knife and just said they’d keep an eye on me. Nothing ever came of it because I never “snapped” again. And the fight with HYDRA didn’t count because everyone was fighting and I just provided amusement.

After HYDRA fell Oscar took off like the rat dog he was and I hadn’t seen him since. Our breakup had happened long before HYDRA fell but he was the one who started the running joke about me and my stupid bedazzled switchblade. He was the first to laugh when I whipped it out in the middle of a gunfight. I always kept it on me just in case I ever saw him again. I probably could have shot him without any remorse, but if he was going to die I wanted it to be because a sparkly pink knife was sticking out of his chest.

Aside from him the only other housemate I’d had was my family and my battalion. My parents had always been obnoxiously loud and stompy. My sister was an easy housemate because she did all the cleaning in our room. She complained about it a lot, but she did it anyway. The point is I just didn’t know a whole lot about living with other people.

Having Steve in my house was actually more welcoming than bothersome. Even though he worried about it constantly. He was a nice guy and did his best to keep me comfortable. He never used the upstairs bathroom except to shower. He never touched my stuff. He always cleaned his dishes and kept his shoes in a neat pile out of the way.

We didn’t really click enough to get comfortable with the affection we were supposed to be showing. The both of us were too quiet and withdrawn as it was. Technically we had more in common than we let on, but we weren’t supposed to talk about those things. So we found our conversations always fell short. And we just hoped Barnes either wasn’t watching or figured we just had a riff in our already shoddy relationship.

Steve was sitting at my kitchen table again but he wasn’t any less tense than usual. His shoulders were always squared and his eyes were always alert. He’d spent the entire day with me as we gallivanted around the yard mowing the lawn and pulling up weeds. We laughed and showed off and pretended to be happy. But even then he was always watching the shadows.

I made him some tea. I was hoping it would relax him a bit. Clara always drank tea and she said it was the only reason, besides coffee, that she didn’t murder Tony. She also said she gave it to Tony when he was stressed out. But then again he probably only let her think that to make her feel better about it. Tony wasn’t a soldier, but I could see it as clear as day on his face. The same way everyone else could see it on mine.

Tea never worked for me. Steve took a cautious sip out of a mug I’d stolen from Stark tower. He winced at the heat from the Earl Grey and then looked up at me.

“Mm, thank you,” he said, though it felt fabricated. Steve didn’t strike me as a tea drinker. But false Jo did.

“I figured fairy princesses are the kind of people who would make you tea,” I whispered. He smiled and took another sip.

“I suppose.” He sat the mug down on the table and conveniently looked down at the watch on his wrist. “I better get going though. Sam didn’t want me to be late. You know… stuff.” I nodded quickly as if it didn’t bother me that I didn’t get to go do “stuff” and I was locked in a waitressing job for two weeks.

“Yeah, of course. More stuff. Will I be seeing you again tonight or are you just going home?”

“Depends on how it plays out. If it’s too late I’ll just go home. But don’t wait up for me.”

I nodded as he stood and headed into the hallway that separated the living room from the kitchen. I followed after him to see him to the door. We paused at the entryway with the door open and he leaned in for one of those nervous cheek pecks. We were supposed to be playing the couple part but we hadn’t moved on from cheek kissing in front of the door or kitchen window. Romanoff suggested a few things, but Steve would get really flustered and change the subject. The only time he ever showed me affection at all was when I had nightmares and he would wake me up and let me lie against him until I felt comfortable enough to go back to sleep.

It didn’t bother me because I didn’t think Steve could ever open up to anyone enough for a relationship to become a realistic option. I figured that was why he wouldn’t talk about the girl Tony mentioned. But you’d think half living with a guy for a few weeks would initiate some sort of bond or friendship. But the only time we ever bonded was when our pasts came back to haunt us. There was no need for words. We had an understanding. And to be fair, that was all I’d ever wanted from anyone.

Steve was a nice guy though and sometimes when we were playing the part we would laugh and I would begin to believe his laughter was genuine. Steve wasn’t a very good liar, but being in my warm fuzzy house was him being taken away from the environment he had built around himself. Steve was meant for dirty work, fighting, and protecting people. And even when he slept he was ridged and straight as an arrow. He would get up at the slightest creak of the house or movement from Rocket in the attic. He would pace in the middle of the night. I never said anything because I paced sometimes too.

I attributed Steve’s discomfort to the thoughts of his missing friend. I tried to put myself in his shoes. I imagined myself losing the person I loved the most in the world. Then waking up and realizing I hadn’t just lost that person, but everyone else too. I tried to imagine waking up and realizing you were alone, only to be thrust into a battle and shoved into a job you didn’t ask for. And then to find that person you thought you lost. To see them tortured and brainwashed and lost to themselves. I didn’t have to imagine why it kept him up at night.

Steve gave me a quick, nervous smile before turning and heading down the steps to the motorcycle that was parked against the curb behind my car. I watched him climb onto the bike and kick the engine to life. It rumbled loudly and I closed the door and sighed. I headed back into the kitchen to find his empty mug and lifted it from the table. A new ring was left on the wood grain. I dumped the mug into the sink and then I saw a shadow move from the corner of my eye.

I tried not to freeze. Years of training had taught me to always be alert for dangers in the shadows. A civilian waitress probably wouldn’t have noticed the movement, but I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck and I paused for just a moment. Then I sat the mug down at the bottom of the sink. When I turned around the shadow was standing in the archway, hiding under a dark hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap.

Steve had asked me to keep the house dark. No porch lights. No lights in the small backyard. Only use lights in the rooms I was using. Shut them off as I left. Barnes was more likely to show up if he could hide. And it appeared Steve had been right, but they were all wrong about one small fact. They said Barnes wouldn’t show himself to anyone but Steve. Not me. I was just a backup. A prop for the lie. The provider of the threat-free environment.

Then I realized a civilian waitress probably would have panicked at the sight of a strange shadowy man in her hallway. So I jumped backwards against the counter and put my hand to my chest. I won’t lie. My heart was pounding and I was itching to reach for the panic button on my bracelet just so I could get out of the situation. But I figured if JARVIS was monitoring my heart and heat signature, he probably already told Tony I wasn’t alone. I had been preparing for this moment, so I had to do what I was Steve wanted.

He stood just outside of the kitchen’s glow of light. His shoulders were straight and tense like Steve’s always were. He was breathing heavy and I couldn’t make out much of his face except for the beard growing on his chin. I couldn’t see enough of his face to place a resemblance to the photos I was shown, but I figured he was the only one likely to break into my house.

“Bucky?” I asked. His head moved a twitch as if he recognized the name.

“You know who I am?” he asked. His voice was low and gravely, careful of every word. But despite the rawness of his tone I could sense something else. Desperation. Eagerness. Maybe even fear.

“Steve told me about you.” He took a step forward and I took a step back, sliding my body along the counter. He froze.

“You’re afraid of me.” I took a moment to answer.

“Most people would be afraid of a stranger in their house.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I didn’t know where else to go.” He reached out and his hand caught the light that was shining from my neighbor’s yard and into my window. I could see blood drip from his glove and onto my floor. “I need help.”

“Oh my god,” I said rushing forward. His hand shot back to his side as if he didn’t expect my sudden movement. “Let me help you. Please?” He hesitated as he looked down at his hand, he flexed his fingers almost as if he didn’t register the pain. The blood was flowing freely enough to leave behind small puddles and droplets on the linoleum.

“Can you help me?” he finally asked.

“I won’t hurt you.” I reached for him and he stumbled back and away from me. “Just trust me,” I said putting my hands up in surrender. “You know Steve? Captain America? He trusts me. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you. And he trusts me.” I didn’t know how true that was but he looked up at me again, I could see his eyes, shaded by the hat. He stepped into the kitchen again. “Sit down on the chair, okay?” I pulled a chair away from the table and he cautiously limped himself into a seated position, resting his left arm on the table. I kept my eyes on that one. “I’m going to remove your sweater. Is that okay?”

He looked up at me and gave a quick nod. He still seemed too unsure of the situation. He didn’t know if he could trust me. Or maybe he just didn’t trust himself. I reached forward and gently unzipped the sweater with shaking fingers. I dragged it down across his stomach, revealing the light cotton shirt that probably didn’t keep him very warm at night. I glanced at the arm that was resting on my table as he flexed his fingers again, almost testing them. That was the weapon I had to be cautious of.

But he let me pull the hood back and helped me slide his right arm out of the sweater so I could see the gash just below the crease of his elbow. I ran my fingers over his skin, assessing the deepness and making sure not vital tendons or arteries were damaged. Luckily it seemed to just be his skin, although in a soft spot which explained the rapid bleeding.

“I can stitch it for you,” I told him. “I used to be a nurse. Or at least, I would have been… if I hadn’t quit school.” That was a lie, but he didn’t know that. “It doesn’t look too bad. I just want to make sure the skin heals and keeps an infection out.” He nodded shortly again and I ran my fingers down his arm and paused on his purple and disfigured wrist. “What happened to your wrist?”

“Broke it,” he said.

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks. I heal fast.”

“Doesn’t matter how fast you heal. The bone needs to be set. If you ever want to use it again.” He looked back up at me. His eyes were darkened and threatening.

“I don’t know how,” he finally said. I nodded.

“I can do it. It’s going to hurt but… I can do it. I have a sling too… from a shoulder injury I had a few years ago. You’ll want to keep it wrapped up. I’m afraid I don’t have the means to build you a cast.” I pulled his arm against his lap and he tensed again. I looked back up at him. “Trust me.”

He didn’t seem to buy it but he let me continue. I ran my fingers over his arm, trying to locate the break and judge how I could reset it. Then I pressed my palm against the side of his wrist and wrapped my hand around his arm.

“Okay,” I started. “On three. Are you ready?” He nodded once. “One, two, three.” Then I pressed down with all my weight. He cried out in pain and I felt the bone snap back into place. He yanked it away from me and cradled it to his chest. “I’m sorry,” I told him.

He didn’t answer. So I stood up and went to get my downstairs first-aid kit from the cupboard under the microwave. When I came back he seemed to have collected himself. I sat the kit down on the table beside his metal arm where he could see it.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to help with the pain. Not unless you want me to take you to the hospital,” I said. His eyes snapped in my direction.

“No,” he said firmly. I nodded again.

“I kind of figured. But… are you hurt anywhere else? I noticed you were favoring one leg.” He made a fist with his left hand and I felt my fingers twitch for the bracelet on my wrist. But then he relaxed his fingers again.

“No,” he said.

“The limp?”

“Bruised.”

I nodded and opened the large box. I found my old sling, probably too small for his arm, wadded up in a corner. I located a bandage roll and set them out on the table. Then I pulled out a spool of black thread and a decent sized curved needle in a sterilized packet. I always kept two first aid kits in my house. Admittedly, mine were probably better than the store bought kind. But most people didn’t have the training required to fix fractures or stitch wounds.

I reached for the chair at the end of the table and dragged it closer to him. It made a loud grinding noise on the floor and he watched it attentively. I sat down slowly beside him. He didn’t look at me. His eyes were staring off into the shadowy hallway and he still had his bleeding arm cradled against his chest.

“So… can I ask you a question?” I asked as I reached for his wrist and pulled it away from his body. I took the bandage roll from the table and began to wrap his wrist. I didn’t have a splint and this was just going to have to do for now. He didn’t answer me. “I just want to know why you came to me instead of Steve. He’s sort of… been hoping you might show up,” I said as I wrapped the bandage around his wrist.

“I know him,” he said after a pause. “I don’t know how I know him. I know that I meant something to him. I know that I’m supposed to kill him.”

“So… is that why you came to me? Because you think you still have to kill him?”

“I needed help. I didn’t know where else to go. I need information too. You were the only option.”
I tied off the bandage and secured it at the end. I hoped that it was tight enough to keep his wrist stable as it healed again. Once that was finished I began to wipe away the blood that was sticking to his skin and pooling in the crease of his elbow. He didn’t flinch when the alcohol touched the cut. He didn’t even seem to notice it.

“I’m afraid I only know what Steve’s told me. Which isn’t very much. He’s not much of a talker.” I smiled but he was still gazing across my kitchen and didn’t return it. I wondered if he even knew how to smile.

“I’ll take whatever you can give me,” he said. I nodded slowly and reached for the needle packet. He was silent as I threaded it and prepped it for his arm.

“I’m going to start now. It’ll hurt a bit, okay? But I promise I was really good at stitching.” He didn’t answer, yet again. So I stuck the needle in his skin and looked up at his face to judge his reaction. His body tensed and his metal fingers had clenched into another fist, but he didn’t try to hit me so I continued. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I asked as I stitched the wound.

“It was an accident,” he repeated.

“You didn’t hurt anyone, did you?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

My greatest weakness was my instinct. I reached up and turned his face toward me. His body froze solid like a rock. I had forgotten that he wasn’t accustomed to unexpected physical contact. His jaw tightened and his breathing rose.

“What did you do?” I asked him. “Did you hurt someone?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he repeated in a colder voice.

“You have to call the police.”

That was my mistake. HYDRA had turned him into a machine and I had given him the exact push he needed for that machine to spring into existence. What was once a confused, broken man was now a weapon. I saw his other arm jerk forward and I felt it slam into my chest. I fell backwards off of the chair and hit the counter hard. But before I could react enough to reach for my pink knife or even the panic button, I felt the cold unforgiving metal beneath his glove as his hand pinned me to the counter by my collarbone. He was breathing heavier and his eyes had darkened violently. He was not the same man who I had just been speaking to.

“Bucky,” I said softly as I tried to pry his fingers from my collarbone. They were pinching into my skin and it was hard for me to not act in my own defense. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not your enemy. I’m just a girl. I’m a civilian.” I knew that since HYDRA was involved, the word “civilian” probably didn’t mean anything to him. He got his target regardless of who was in the way. But he released me anyway. I slumped against the floor and rubbed my fingers over my aching bone.

“You’re just like him,” he said quietly as he stepped back toward the droplets of blood on the floor. The hoodie was still hanging from his shoulder and the needle was hanging by the thread attached to his skin. He held his bandaged wrist against his chest. “He wouldn’t have wanted me to hurt anyone either.” Then he disappeared into the hallway.

“Bucky, wait,” I said as I moved to get back on my feet. But it was too late. He was already gone. So I fell back against the counter and hit my head against the wood. I closed my eyes. What was it Romanoff called him? A ghost.

Notes

BUCKY!

*Edited*