Monster

After dinner, I managed to convince Bucky to stay the night. Though I couldn't guarantee that he'd still be there in the morning. Let alone by the time Steve got back. Either way, getting him to agree felt like a success. So I showed him to the extra room where I kept my laptop and all the other stuff I didn't use. I gave him a pair of Steve's sweatpants and pulled out the futon to make him a bed while he changed. When he was done, everything was ready to go.

"I hope it's comfortable," I said, fluffing a pillow. I didn't know why I was so worried about his comfort. Any vaguely flat surface was probably more comfortable than the ground. At least he'd be warm.

"It's fine," he replied.

I stood up and looked over his clean-shaven face. He had his hair back again. It made him look more average—as average as someone who plays in a rock band looks. But it was still better than a full beard and grimy skin.

"So um…." I didn't know what to say. I was weirdly nervous around him now. The words just fell out of my mouth, and I had nothing to follow up with. I ended up just staring at the cluttered desk on the other side of the room.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked to break the silence.

His speech was starting to sound more natural. In the beginning, he kept his answers flat, emotionless, and usually to one or two words. Straight to the point. Yes or no. He said only what needed to be said. Now he seemed more comfortable asking me things. His tone was more natural, and every once in a while, I caught hints of amusement. Even though I hadn't succeeded in making him laugh yet. Not that I wasn't trying. But my nervousness probably made me look awkward and weird instead of charming or funny.

"You can ask me whatever you want," I told him.

"You said something before—about him—that made me think."

"Think what?"

"You said he doesn't love you like he loves me and that it wasn't serious." I couldn't remember saying those things, but my memory wasn't that great to begin with. I hesitated to answer.

"It's not—It's just—I don't think it's special."

"What do you mean?"

"Steve's been through a lot. And so have I. And we care about each other. But I think it's more—convenience and loneliness. He's my friend. But I don't think it'll ever move on from that point."

I nervously tossed the pillow onto the bed, then hugged my arms to myself. My heart was beating fast, but I was telling myself to pull back. I didn't understand why it felt so painful.

"Bucky," I said slowly. "There's something I should tell you."

"What is it?"

I sat down on the futon and pulled my sweater close. I didn't want him to get angry, but I didn't want him to hate me for lying either. I wanted to gain his trust, and the best way to do that was to tell him the truth. I just had to put it as gently as I could. He hadn't snapped since that first night, but I didn't know what might set him off again.

"I'm not—who you think I am," I admitted. I looked up cautiously, but he was staring blankly back. "I'm not really Steve's girlfriend. I never have been. I used to work for SHIELD. We set this up to give Steve a reason to come to a safe place. They chose my house. I was just supposed to be an explanation for why he came by so often."

"I know," he said softly.

"How?"

"You're a soldier. I can tell." I rubbed my eyes and nodded.

"I used to be. And then I got shot. And they sent me home." He sat down beside me, making the futon creak under his weight.

"He's in love with a woman in New York." He was staring into the hallway again, blank but apparently thinking. The blank expressions weren't a reflection of what was inside. Just a mask to hide his thoughts. Something he'd probably learned to do to protect himself.

"How did you know that?"

"I see more than you think I do."

"How long have you known this was a setup?"

"I always knew. I just wasn't sure how you actually felt about him. He does care about you. But not the same way he does for her."

"Why didn't you say anything?" He turned his blue eyes to me.

"Because I figured you would tell me when you were ready," he said.

"Then why did you come to me if you knew I was lying?"

"Because I could see the same darkness in you that's in me. Mine just grew into a monster, and yours didn't." I shook my head and looked down at my twisted fingers.

"You really need to stop calling yourself that."

"I trust you, Jo. I didn't at first. But I do now," he said. It was the first time I'd ever heard him say my name. "And I know you trust me too. That's all I wanted. He—Steve—he doesn't trust me. He wants to, but he still thinks I'm going to—show my monster. You could have called for help when I attacked you. You could have had them lock me up. But you want to help me. Not because you have to, but because you want to. You're helping me feel—human again."

"You've always been human. I just want you to be whoever you want. And whatever you think you feel for me, it's not real. No matter how much we might want it to be." His eyebrows creased, and I winced from embarrassment. What if I was wrong? What if he really was just naturally flirty and didn't even realize he was doing it?

"How do you know what's real and what isn't?" he asked. I sighed. I'd asked myself that same question a thousand times and under different circumstances.

"Because I think I'm the first person—since you got free—and it's been a very long time. And I don't want you to be confused or get hurt. I want you to focus on getting better and regaining an identity and a life. I don't want you to have to worry about me. Especially not—in that way." He nodded slowly and gazed off at the hallway again.

"I don't think you really get to decide who I worry about." I flopped forward and buried my face in my hands.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't get to make decisions for you either. I can't change anything. I just want you to know that—whatever it is—it's not the right time." I lifted my head again. He chewed on his lip, nodding gently. It was the most absently natural thing I'd ever seen him do.

"I know," he said. But his voice had gone back to being flat and emotionless.