December // A Winter Soldier Story

11

When he is finished, and drying himself off with towels he found in the closet, he relishes in his newfound cleanliness. He feels less like a monster, and more like a human being. His skin is smooth and warm and feels more like his own. He still does not recognize himself in the mirror, but then again, it is hard to recognize yourself when you don't even know who you are.

He breathes in the smells around him. Candles, a home, the scent of someone's shampoo. He is drunk off of them, off of her, off of this glimpse at a life he can never have. He would give anything to stay here.

Anything except her safety.

He forces himself to exit the bathroom, wearing the same pants and undergarments he had been wearing earlier. She realizes this when he walks back into her bedroom.

"Oh no, let me get you a change of clothes," she immediately protests, a frown present on her face. He wants to interject, but he doesn't want to argue with her, so he remains quiet as she roots through the draws in her dresser. She pulls out another pair of sweatpants, a pair of underwear, and a sweatshirt.

"These are from...an old friend of mine," she murmurs, looking at them for a second as if deep in thought before passing them to him. "They'll suit you much better than they suited him."

He senses there is a story behind her words. He again stays silent, but briefly wonders who these clothes originally belonged to before returning to the bathroom to change. He quickly switches out the old stuff for the new stuff, and is grateful for the sweatshirt's coverage.

The second time he returns, he finds her in her bed, laying above the covers in a new sweater and pajama pants this time. She is looking intently through some papers in her lap.

"What are you doing?" He finds himself asking. She jumps at the sound of his voice -- he realizes he probably slinked into the room as he does when he spies, a force of habit -- and she grabs her chest as she tries to recover from the small scare.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in," she breathes, shaking her head before looking back down. "I'm just going through some work papers. I just got a text from my boss that the numbers for last month's sales were lower than anticipated, so now he wants me to double check everything to make sure the numbers are actually that low and that it's not just a mistake." She releases a sigh after scanning another paper. "Nope, not a mistake. The company is just not doing well."

"Your job is in sales?" He asks, trying to find a way communicate with her in a way that's easy for them both. He has been dying to speak with her for almost two weeks now, but has absolutely no idea what to say without causing himself pain.

She nods, pulling out her phone from her pocket. Subconsciously, Bucky's instincts kick in: he unintentionally catches her passcode. 6743. He really wishes he could turn those instincts off. "Yeah, just some small company downtown. I called in sick today to take care of you, and clearly my boss has decided to react by giving me meaningless tasks super late at night that anyone in the office could do. Wonderful, really."

She sounds ticked off, and Bucky catches the eye roll she gives her phone. After typing for a second, she locks it, throws it on her nightstand, and puts the couple of papers she had pulled out back in the drawer of the same nightstand. It is then that it hits him what she really said.

"Wait, you took off of work to take care of me?" He asks, not bothering to hide the disbelief in his voice. She stops what she is doing, makes eye contact with him, and nods, as if the answer is obvious.

When was the last time someone did something kind for him?

"I-thank you," he breathes, something he hasn't said to someone in quite some time. She bites her pink lip with her white teeth, setting off an emotion inside of him he doesn't recognize, and shoots him a small grin.