"So," she began, her fork sinking into the fluffy pie and meeting the porcelain plate underneath with an audible clattering sound, "About your situation, do you need me to contact Steve? Or Sam, maybe? They'd be worried."

"You know them?" He looked at her with surprise plastered all over his structured features.

"Well, I wasn't supposed to." She admitted honestly, "Steve moved into the apartment upstairs and he tried to keep it a secret because - you see, fangirls, er, swarm up. But when I found out that a new neighbor moved in upstairs, I sent them my homebaked red velvet cake as a greeting. And the next thing you see, Sam Wilson is banging at my door yelling 'however could a mere mortal have made that."

Bucky seemed amuse but his mouth was already full with food to respond. She smiled and took this as her cue to proceed.

"After that they came downstairs often. Whenever the two felt like having a nice homemade meal. I'm guessing they don't have it all that much with all their outdoor 'classified work'. They also come to play board games or cards. But I've to keep my lips sealed" she ended it with a little giggle.

She felt all the previous tension release from Bucky's shoulders when he found out that Steve trusted her. Then a thought struck her immediately,

"That reminds me, I should tell your friends about your condition. I'm sure they won't be happy to find out later that I didn't tell them when their best buddy was practically burning with fevers and getting panic attacks." She suggested, her tone quietly asking for his consent before doing so.

"Can't." Bucky just shrugged, keeping his focus on the glazed sandwich on his."Mission. 'guess they're out of town, raiding some enemy bases. Be back in three days."

"Ah. Superhero business." She nodded in quiet acknowledgement, "that's nice."

"Well, the avengers. How are they?" She asked in a quieter, more inquisitive voice.

She didn't want to ask but she wanted to test the waters and draw a boundary where the sensitivity of the subject got him uncomfortable.

"They're—" Bucky thought for a moment, "weird like me. Don't think they like me. Stark—"

Then there was a weird pause and she got her answer in the moment, "but," she quickly changed the topic, "you gotta admit Thor is pretty cool."

Bucky nodded quickly in agreement, "Very flashy. He loves his entrances."

She nodded, smiling that his one worded answers had morphed into sentences. He was opening up and it felt like a Christmas present that made her giddy inside.

Then his ocean eyes rose to meet hers again could she could have sworn they sent a chill down her spine and made her nervous like a college interview morning.

"You're always smiling." He said with a slight tilt of his head, his face still blank as ever but still quietly amused.

"Yeah, force of habit. Sorry." She smiled again; even wider now.

He turned his face towards the window, staring at the raindrops pattering against the glass pane, quietly averting his eyes from her, "I wouldn't do it so much if I were you."

A frown made its way on her face, "why's that?"

"I think people would pay you for it." He said, "to see your smile."

And then she noticed the slightest tilt on his lips, for the first time this evening, and it made her heart jump.

"Is that a compliment?" She chuckled softly.

"Nope. A business tactic." He corrected.

She made a sound of exaggerated acknowledgement.

"Is there any important stuff in that bag, by the way? Like a laptop or phone? You might wanna check for any damages." She pointed towards the mud laden bag lying near the entrance that Bucky was carrying with him, "no just clothes. Was moving to a new apartment."

She giggled, "is that all you take when you move places?"

He just shrugged, her giggle threw him off. It was pure, like a perfect little jingle you're dying to hear at the end of a war. It really made him want to act stupid so he could hear more of it. And it thrilled him, just the thought of how many more times he could see that smile and how long one smile could last him till he ached to see it again.

There was something vaguely buoyant about her smile.

It gave him a sense of false hope. Hope that it was just a bad day and that everything was going to be okay, and the sun was going to shine again, and the wind would sing again, and the flowers would dance again. And he was latching onto it for his life.

"Hey, if you have your clothes why don't you go and take a nice, warm shower." She added quickly, pointing to his clothes that were clad in grime and still damp from the rain earlier, "that looks uncomfortable."

"Oh gosh, sorry you had to see that." He almost gasped at the realisation, "I definitely should."

She then handed him his bag and he pulled out a fresh set of clothes, "I'll lead you to the bathroom."

It alarmed her a little when he staggered slightly before standing and moved his feet too cautiously. She decided to hold his hand to offer a little balance, a gesture he was grateful for.

She walked off into a little hallway and he quietly followed her. She opened the door to the bathroom, switching on the lights to reveal the shower, "I'll wait for you outside, hm?"

She turned around to leave but was stopped in her tracks by a firm grip on her arm, "um, I -uh—"

She turned around to look at him directly,

"I'm sorry, uh, I'm in so, so s-sorry. But c-could you, um," she could see him looking down at his feet nervously, swallowing the lump in his throat, "p-please don't leave me. It'll come back."

And in that moment, just looking at him made her feel so sorry because it was obvious that it took him a lot of courage to say that. And he was internally loathing himself for being so weak because that's what he was taught to do.

And she wanted to teach him that it's not wrong to be weak sometimes.

She exhaled, only to give him a comforting gaze before ruffling his hair, "it's okay, there's a shower curtain. How about I sit here?" she pointed towards the floor beside the tub, "I'll face the other way, hm?"

His lips pressed into a thin line of pure gratitude as he stepped into the bathtub. She positioned herself near the ledge, her back facing the tub. She eased herself after hearing the burble of water when he lowered himself into the bathwater.

Her heart sank a little when she felt how quiet he was, how still he was. He did not make any sounds at all, almost as if he was forced to not make any sounds, as if he was forced to gulp down pain, forced to fold himself like origami, creasing his edges so he did not take up space, forced to live like he owed someone his life, forced to live like he was someone else's property.

She choked back a sad sigh, how dare they?

The bathroom then was nothing but deafening silence and it tightened her throat just thinking how quiet it would be to be by himself. Quietitude meant only one thing; thinking. Thinking and sinking deeper into the painful haze of memories that haunted him. This was a perpetual self tormenting cycle.

The quieter he was, the more his mind tortured him.

Her mind rushed to think of his face morphed into that unhinged expression earlier, the sheer panic and painful desperation.

"Do you mind if I sing?" She spoke before processing, locking her arms around her knees as her back rested against the tub, "I don't like quiet showers, I'm always singing."

There was a short pause before she heard a movement, "no, go ahead."

"You heard of Elvis Presley? No I think you haven't. The 40's, right. Okay. It's called 'I can't help falling in love with you' by Elvis Presley."

He just listened quietly as she sang and her dulcet voice resonated across in the walls of the empty bathroom. As she did, she could hear him shift into a more comfortable position in the tub, relaxing his muscles a bit. By the time she concluded, she could almost hear a relieved sigh leave his mouth.

"The song is legendary, you should know. It's just my voice does no justice to it, you should hear it in Elvis' voice. It's something else!"

"Your voice very much did justice to it." And she could almost feel a smile radiate from him, "tell me you sing for a living."

"Really?" She giggled, "I doubt that, Sarge."

"No, really. People could pay you to sing." He added monotonously, as if stating a well known fact.

"Is that a compliment?" She chimed bemusedly, playing with the thin silver chain around her neck.

"A business tactic."