EIGHT—TRY TO REMEMBER
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TIME SEEMED TO go extraordinarily slowly for the rest of the day. I'd gone back inside after the...slight altercation with Bucky, flowers in hand and ready to be put in a vase. After doing such, I grabbed my book and proceeded to the bottom of the stairs, leading up to my bedroom. 

Before I began the ascent, though, I cast a glance down the narrow hallway, the only leg of the house that Bucky seemed to like, since he spent most of his time in the guest room. I considered going to check on him but I shook my head, a sharp voice in my mind scolding me.

If he wants help, he'll ask for it, the voice said. It's his choice if he wants to distance himself from everyone. 

Ignoring the pang of guilt in my chest, I climbed the stairs and curled up on my bed, diving into Agatha Christie's Murder on the Orient Express. The copy I had was quite old, a well-worn cover just barely holding the book together. It was my mother's, one of the only things she'd decided to leave at the house.

"Who knows, Elda," she'd said with her wide, warm smile, "someday it may serve you well. Remind you of us when you get lonely." Of course, as any mother would, she'd had tears in her glassy gray eyes. She was emotional like that.

Yes, because what screams "fond family memories" more than the murder of a child kidnapper on a train in the dead of winter? 

Stifling a nostalgic grin, I turned the page and wrapped a blanket around my legs, settling in for a few hours. If Bucky was going to be moody the whole time he was here, I was going to have to get used to it. Not that it would be much of a difference from my previous years living alone. 

Hercules Poirot had only just finished collecting all of the aliases from the train's occupants when I looked over to check the time. It had been a short two hours. Groaning, I marked my place in the book and set it down. I swung my legs off the bed and padded downstairs into the kitchen. 

I wasn't much of a cook, but like Sam said, I could make a mean dish of scrambled eggs and hashbrowns. It was my specialty. In the need of comfort food, I grabbed a mixing bowl and a bag of frozen hashbrowns--I didn't have the time to cut up the potatoes, alright?--and placed them on the counter. With the stove on, I began to crack some eggs and stir them together, watching the previously separate liquids converge into a pale yellow substance. 

Before I put the mixture on the stove, though, I found myself looking back into the darkened hallway. Sucking it up, I wiped my hands off with a dishtowel and started my way down the hallway.

"Bucky?" I asked softly, my knuckles tapping on the closed door. I knew it wasn't smart to startle a former soldier, no matter how long ago their tour was. "I...I'm making dinner. Do you want to come out and eat with me?"

There was no reply.

"Hey, there's eggs and hashbrowns. I don't really want to eat alone if I don't have to," I tried to coax him out of the room but still, he didn't answer.

Alright, fine, I rolled my eyes and turned the doorknob. 

The room was dark aside from the soft light cascading in through the window, flickering through the curtains as it danced on the carpet. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring out into the day, his back straight and unmoving. I could barely tell he was alive, but his shoulders rose and fell gently with his breaths. 

"Come on," I tried again, my voice soft but starting to fill with annoyance, "we can't be strangers forever. Sometimes we're going to have to talk."

Bucky turned his head to the side, displaying his sharp jawline and dark stubble on his chin. He didn't do anything, just a slight dip of his chin let me know that he'd heard me. Then he turned back to stare out the window with his back straight. The way he sat on the bed, it was like he didn't want to sink into it. Like he was afraid to leave an indent, anything that showed he was here in the first place.

"Okay, fine," I sighed, retreating back into the hallway. "I'll leave you alone to...whatever it is you're doing. But I'll be out in the kitchen if you need anything."

I didn't wait for a response before walking back to the stove, pouring the mixture of several eggs onto the skillet. Inhaling a breath through my nose, I tried not to take his silence personally. It made sense; it was close to what Sam had done after coming home from the military. But Bucky had spoken to me earlier, and now he was...ignoring me? I couldn't figure him out. 

When the eggs were sizzling on the stove and ready to be put on my plate, I picked it up and turned around to serve myself when I saw Bucky standing there, standing awkwardly by the kitchen table. I jumped about six inches, nearly dropping the hot pan of eggs.

"You can't keep doing that," I hissed, a furious blush rising on my cheeks as I dished out some food onto two plates. "You have to warn a girl if you're going to sneak up on her like that," I continued. "Here," I added, "I made you some."

Bringing the plates to the table, I put his in the spot across from me and sat down. It only took a few moments for me to notice he wasn't going to sit down. I sighed. "You know, it's kind of uncomfortable to eat while standing."

He didn't look at me as he mumbled, "Not hungry."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really?" My voice was practically dripping with skepticism.

Another two seconds, and then he gave in, carefully sitting down across from me. The plain white t-shirt I'd given him on his first day here stretched and hugged his shoulders tightly as he reached forward to grab the fork. 

"Huh," I mused, "for a trained assassin, you don't move very fast."

The fork dropped from his fingers to the table, and it felt like the first time when his blue eyes, this time dark with danger, met mine. His jaw twitched, and his hand was clenched in a fist.

I ducked my head, guilt racking my body in enormous waves. "Sorry," I said softly, "I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine," he grumbled in a low voice, the finality in his tone ringing clear throughout me. 

About five more minutes passed between us in dead silence apart from the clink of our utensils on the plates. Then, unable to stand it anymore, I dared to look up at him. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you do when you're in that room? When you're just sitting there?"

He held still, and for whatever reason, my eyes slid down to his left shoulder, the stump hidden by the shirt's sleeve. Bucky noticed I was looking, and since he couldn't really do anything to hide it, he just glared at me until I looked away. "Nothing," he mumbled. When I tilted my head in suspicion, he sighed. "I...I do a lot of thinking. Try to remember who I am. Who I was."

I nodded to his shoulder. "Before that?" The bluntness of my words almost made me cringe, but I was done walking around on eggshells near him. 

Bucky looked surprised at my words as well, but after a second of staring at me, he nodded swiftly. "Yeah." He looked down at his empty plate and pushed it away. "Can I ask you something?" he said in a deep, raspy voice.

Shrugging, I pushed my plate off to the side as well. "Sure."

"Why don't you treat me like I'm...I don't know, broken?"

The hopelessness in his voice caused my heart to splinter. "Well," I began, unsure of how to answer. "Veterans are always getting treated like they're fragile when they come back. There's no reason for them to be treated that way by the people who are the closest to them." I grinned and twisted a strand of hair around a finger. "Besides, Sam always hated it when I gave him that look of, 'I feel so bad for you, let me fix your life.' And I get it. Sometimes you need a bit of normalcy after everything."

His eyes went cold at the mention of Sam. It was something in between frustration, sadness, and...jealousy?

I almost said something about it, but then he interrupted my thoughts with a small, "Thank you."

It was hard to stifle the satisfied smile that grew on my lips. Reaching out slowly, I touched my fingertips to his, holding my hand there for a second. His eyes kept flicking between mine and the spot our hands touched. It was hardly a second that we'd held it before he shifted his hand away and rose from the chair. "Thanks for the food," he said gruffly. I thought he would retreat to the guest room, but he only stood there, staring at me. "Elda," he whispered.

But it wasn't a question or a call for my advice. He'd simply said my name, like a realization. It held a slight lilt of innocence on the syllables, and I fought to keep my cheeks from heating as I realized how much I liked it, the way my name rolled of his tongue.

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yes, hello, here's another chapter woop! thanks all for reading and voting, i really appreciate it! feel free to leave a comment or two, those are the most fun to read!

so...i was supposed to have school today but we got my city's largest snowstorm since 1909 over the weekend so yay, school was cancelled today! as much fun as it is, it'll only be harder to go back tomorrow. oh well, the school year's almost over.

here's a pic to show you how crazy it is. this is in april you guys. snow like this in april.

yeah, try to guess where the road is(yeah, by that mailbox, but like three feet down).

published on: april 16, 2018