From Darkness

I woke in the morning when Bucky shifted his legs. I darted upward so he could move.

"I gotta get going," he said, sliding out from under me and hopping up on his feet before I could even make sense of what was happening.

"Where?" I asked.

"Work to do." He went to his backpack, and I stayed where I was, blinking in the sunlight that filtered through the gloom of the newspapers on the windows.

"I can help. I need to find a job too. You know I get restless if I'm still for too long," I said, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to wake myself.

"We'll worry about that later. I'm not looking for a job today. I'm looking for food. Things we might need."

"I can still help." He stood and sighed.

"I really think it would be best if you didn't," he said. I was almost offended, but I knew he had a reason for everything he did.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because they would have contacted Stark by now. He might even be in Belarus already if he acted quickly enough. Which means they're all on high alert. I wouldn't put it past him to plaster your face on every news station in Europe just to draw you out of hiding."

"He won't if he thinks I'm still with Hydra."

"Even if they think you didn't make it out, he's going to try and cover every angle. The last thing we need right now is for someone to recognize you." I nodded slowly.

"So what do I do? Bleach my hair and hide out in your apartment all day?" He shrugged and picked up his backpack.

"You can change your hair if you want to, but it'll still be best to wait a few days before you leave. We'll watch the news and the neighborhood. That's if you're one hundred percent positive you don't want to go back to New York." I nodded quickly. After what I did to Ivan, I couldn't possibly get that close to Clara. And I knew Stark would take me to New York. And I knew she wouldn't let me get away with not seeing her.

"I can't."

"Then you'll have to hide out for a while. It's my least favorite part of this kind of lifestyle. I'll get you some books while I'm out. I don't have anything else for you to entertain yourself with." I sighed deeply. Entertainment wasn't really my main concern. Staying busy was.

"I was afraid of that." He carried the backpack over to the other side of the living room near the kitchen. He stomped on the floor a few times as if looking for something hollow.

"I'll get the books first," he decided. "Bring them back to you and head out for everything else."

"You don't have to. I'll find something to do. This place needs a lot of work." He knelt down and popped out a few floorboards. He stuffed his backpack into the empty space and covered it again. Then he looked up at me.

"I'm not making you clean this place by yourself," he said.

"I'm not going to sit here with nothing to do all day. Honestly, Buck, it kind of stinks."

"It'll take me an hour, tops."

"English then? I mean, I suppose I could read in Spanish if I had to. I've never actually tried. Actually, I kind of stopped reading entirely."

"I know. But it might be a while before I can get my hands on a TV or a radio. And we'll have to be careful how we use them. I wouldn't recommend the internet or a computer at all. Not even from a public place. Anything you search for might be monitored. So don't try searching for Stark or your family or Graham."

"I understand. A book is fine. Spanish is fine too. Might be slow, but at least I won't get through it too fast." He nodded and stood again.

"An hour," he said, then he disappeared into the hallway. But he popped his head back out before leaving. "If I'm not back in two hours, go to the manager. She lives in the first apartment on the bottom floor. She'll tell you where to go. Head back to Belarus. Take my backpack with you."

"Jeez, Bucky."

"Just promise me that you will."

"I will." He nodded once and slipped out the door. Then I plopped back on the pillow and hoped I'd fall back asleep. But it wasn't happening.

Since I had nothing better to do and the smell was bothering me, I decided to get to work. There was nothing in the apartment that wasn't built in or nailed to the floor. Aside from the cinderblock shelves. Nothing to clean with or sit on. But he'd left plenty of garbage, and he must have left in a hurry because there were a few dishes in the sink that looked like they were developing new species of fungus. I didn't have anything better to do, so I filled the silence by humming to myself as I piled all the garbage into one area where we could easily pick it up once I had trash bags.

The humming reminded me that my life might be a tad bit easier if I'd kept the mp3 player Tony gave me. I wouldn't have been able to use it anyway since Tony could probably trace it. So I didn't regret giving it to Graham. And then I thought about Graham being over there all alone with no one to turn to. He'd been shot, injured, lonely. He'd have no idea if I was alive or if he'd ever see me again—no one to help him through recovery. Probably didn't even get to keep his job at Arby's. Would he be able to make it to meetings, or would he lose his trust in whoever filled in for Sam now that I was gone too?

I'd hoped the cleaning would help me keep my mind off of things, but it wasn't working. I couldn't stop thinking about Graham all alone. Then Clara worried sick about me. I knew she'd be a mess. Tony would be a mess by default. I never even made it home for the holidays. How did my parents deal with that? How would they react to finding out Ivan was dead? I imagined my grandma getting the news in her nursing home. Opening her silver cigarette case and looking over the picture of her only son. Of course, she'd lost him years ago, but now she'd never get him back. Never get to see him again. And I was gone too. They had no idea where I was or what happened to me.

I wondered who would go through my house to get rid of all my stuff. Or how long they'd keep it sitting there unused. Who would be there for Clara when Tony was off saving people, and she had to be alone with a baby? Tony didn't have any other family. There was no one around to be the cool aunt or godmother. Would I just end up another painful memory like Ivan? Someone only talked about in hushed conversations at family gatherings? The distant relative that Clara's kid would never give a second thought to?

And then, since I had nothing else to do, I sat down on the floor by the island counter and decided it was a good a place as any to wallow in self-pity. Bucky wasn't there to see me looking so helpless and pathetic, crying on the floor. I was truly alone for the first time since he'd gotten me back. I just had to hope I had time to collect myself before he returned.

But of course, that's when I heard footsteps on the stairs and movement in the hall. As if someone was lugging something heavy up the stairs. I could hear voices; a woman it sounded like. I couldn't make out what she was saying. I went quiet as I listened to them grow louder. Sure enough, there was a knock on the door.

I had a moment of complete panic. Someone knew I was there. If the apartment had been empty for months, no one would knock unless they expected an answer. Bucky hadn't told me what to do if someone came to the door. So I stood slowly and approached the hallway to see if there was a place I could peek through without them noticing.

But then it opened, and Bucky stuck his head in.

"Sorry," he said. "My hands were full."

"Jesus," I replied as the panic subsided. "Can I help?"

"Just stand back, so I don't hit you." I did as he said and stepped to the side. There was an older woman in the hall. She reminded me of my grandmother in Belarus, only a bit sterner and less maternal. Definitely the kind of woman you didn't want to cross.

"This is Elena," he told me, pushing the door open all the way. "She lives downstairs. Caught me on the way out and managed to find us a mattress." She nodded in agreement and then stepped into the apartment ahead of him. He pulled the mattress through the door while she looked around in disgust.

Bucky dragged the mattress into the room and dumped it on the floor beneath the window. He slid it into place with one good kick, and then she turned on him. She was clearly scolding him in Romanian. He stood there silently, nodding his head along to whatever she was saying. She pointed at me a few times and then jabbed him in the chest with her finger, obviously giving him an earful. Then she turned on her heel and came at me.

"Ioana," she said, but she'd shifted into a much friendlier tone. She grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me into the hall. I glanced back at Bucky in a panic, but he gave me a nod, letting me know I would be safe with her. He still followed after.

He met us at the top of the stairs as she hobbled against the rail to get down. She was still ranting in Romanian, and he only occasionally opened his mouth to let her know he was paying attention. I really hoped she knew I couldn't understand her. She wasn't giving him enough time to translate. But I got the feeling the scolding was for his ears and not mine.

She was still going by the time we reached the lobby on the bottom floor. She pulled me into her apartment and let me go in the entryway. Then she opened a drawer in a small table and pulled out a wad of money. She shoved it into his hands and pointed him to the door. He sighed in irritation and looked at me.

"She says I'm not allowed to have you back until I stock the fridge and clean the apartment," he told me. But he sounded defeated rather than seriously concerned by her threat. "At least that's the gist of what she said." I smiled.

"She's holding me hostage?" I asked.

"She said she'll feed you if you help out in the kitchen."

"Oh. Of course." He stuffed the money into his pocket.

"I'll be back. If I don't make it back by sundown…."

"I know. I know." She stood between us, watching curiously as we talked. He looked really uncomfortable as he nodded and took a step toward the door. But she spoke again, clearly giving him another demand, and he looked mildly amused when he turned back. He planted a kiss on my cheek, but his lips lingered, and it made my heart jump. "You don't have to do that," I reminded him when he pulled away. There was a smile on his lips again.

"Apparently, I do. If I ever want to see you again, that is." Then he disappeared out of the door, and she locked it behind him. She turned to me and sighed heavily, slapping her hands on her pants.

"He'll need a bit of work," she said in clear, though heavily accented, English. I nodded slowly. I decided I was going to like her.