From Darkness

Being in Elena's apartment reminded me too much of Belarus. The only difference is that we shared a common language. Thankfully, she didn't ask very many questions. She seemed perfectly satisfied when I didn't answer right away or when she noticed me hesitating. She picked up the slack in conversation and focused primarily on trying to teach me to cook.

I didn't know why everyone was so concerned with getting me to cook. I sucked at it. But that didn't seem to bother her either. She said she couldn't blame me because I was American. Part of me wanted to come to my mom's defense. She did try, and she'd grown up with European parents. But—then I remembered the nights she'd try to make things like hotdog casserole and nothing sounded more American to me than the abomination of a hotdog casserole.

By the time Bucky got back, we'd cooked a full meal. And it wasn't a light one either. We had so much food that I couldn't fathom how the three of us would eat it. Even with Bucky's advanced metabolism and me, recovering from being starved. We ate as much of it as we could while she talked to us about the news and the gossip of the apartment building. Things that had taken place while he was gone. New neighbors who'd moved in. People who'd moved out. Cats that got other cats pregnant and why there were suddenly twelve more cats running around.

Even after we finished eating, we sat around the table to listen to her stories. We offered to help her clean up, but she refused and spent the next few minutes putting all the leftovers into containers for us to take home. I was eternally grateful because I had no idea how to budget and cook for food I couldn't even pronounce in a country where I couldn't even shop.

When we got back to the apartment, it looked and smelled better than it did before. Bucky had come back while we were busy downstairs and got rid of all the trash. There was nothing inside now except for the mattress and food and a pile of books on the counter. He'd gotten a few things for us to eat, and Elena sent us home with a few of her dishes and pots and pans, so we weren't without. I set everything down on the counter while Bucky went to make sure everything was locked and secure.

"I got something for you while I was out," he told me. I was busy emptying the bags she'd given us.

"Oh yeah?"

He set a newspaper down on the counter at my side. My eyes immediately fell on the picture on the front page. It wasn't the main headline since it was American news, but off to the corner. The only word I recognized was "Stark." But I was more interested in who was standing next to him.

"Graham," I said. Bucky put his hand on my shoulder. I studied the photo of Tony shaking Graham's hand. Graham looked a bit nervous, but the image was in black and white, so I couldn't tell exactly how he was doing. Other than being insanely tall and skinny.

"It's deliberate," Bucky told me.

"What's the article about?"

"Stark's plans to build a new facility. A home base for the Avengers. He's apparently selling the tower."

"How did that make the news here?"

"Avengers news usually does. But like I said, this was deliberate. I wouldn't be surprised if Stark has contacts in every major news organization in the world. Or at least a parent company. And your sister is a publicist, so she knows how to work the media."

"What does it say about Graham?"

"Nothing. There was a mention of recruits and interns but no mention of him by name. The photo was staged for you."

"How so?"

"When I left the kid, he was in bad shape. No family to claim him. No one to help him through recovery. Stark would have come looking for you the moment he suspected something was up. He would have checked hospitals and found the kid. Probably took him in. The good news is that it means his medical bills are probably covered. The bad news is that there's no way for you to contact him without Stark knowing." I shook my head.

"It doesn't matter. Just knowing he's okay. It's the best news I've had since…."

"I know. I think that was the intention. They probably just wanted you to know he was okay. Just in case you really did get away. The question is just whether this was Stark's doing or Clara's."

"Is it weird that I miss him? Graham, I mean."

"It isn't. I'm sorry I doubted him." He walked away to empty the other bag. I watched him while he worked. I felt bad that he'd had to clean up the apartment by himself, but then again, it was his mess and not mine. He had his back to me, and he'd taken off the jacket and his gloves.

"I don't blame you for not trusting him."

"He reminded me of Steve. Before. Skinny little smart-ass punk. I thought it was too much of a coincidence. Turns out he really is just a skinny little smart-ass punk." I laughed.

"How much of Steve do you remember?"

"Bits and pieces. Most of what I know is what I've been told or researched. Every once in a while, something will come up, but it's not always clear. Makes me think about him."

"You miss him?" He was silent for a while as he assembled the containers on the stove in the middle of the kitchen island. Then he nodded.

"I think so."

"I didn't know him very long, but—I miss him too."

"He's a good friend. To both of us."

"He is."

I wanted to say more, but I didn't want to hurt him any more than I already had. So I turned back to my task. Bucky collected a few more containers and went to stick them in the small fridge with the food he'd picked up while he was out. But when he passed me, he stopped to kiss the back of my head.

"What was that for?" I asked.

"Just because."

"I thought the last one was for show." He went to the fridge and gave me a smirk.

"I never do anything for show." I smiled to myself.