[Quiet in the Chaos]

~12~

~12~

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FOUR WEEKS pass. Danielle pays little mind to the scarce conversation from the healing soldier. She expects it now. Even so, admittedly the woman finds herself enjoying the company. Sometimes, though it isn't regular, if Bucky is feeling up to it, he will silently join her for a meal.

He likes that she doesn't push him for words.

But the man does find his eyes moving from hers when she isn't looking, roaming along the soft edges of her round face, the way her eyelashes flutter when she glances down. For the life of him, he can't understand what she gains from him being here.

And Danielle, well she finds herself rid of any fear or caution, instead becoming bolder as she watches his neat movements, his muscular shoulders. She curses herself when she finds her gaze lingering a little too long on his pink lips that she longs to see smile.

She wonders if he would have dimples.

Even with these thoughts, Danielle doesn't allow herself to find meaning in them. She doesn't believe she could ever care very deeply for someone.

Because she doesn't deserve to.

She straightens slightly as Bucky makes his way down the stairs hesitantly. Aware of how self-conscious he may be, she pretends not to notice, returning her gaze to the porridge in front of her. She only glances up when he pulls out the chair from across from her. "There's some left in the saucepan, it's still hot," she mentions passively, before spooning another mouthful into her.

After a few moments, the soldier sits across from her, taking a spoon of the porridge for himself. She nudges across the jar of honey to him. He murmurs something Danielle presumes to be a thank you. She nods slightly. When she finishes her bowl, she decides to remain seated, even though there's no conversation held between the pair. She understands the appreciation of silence, sometimes comfort, so she doesn't mind his lack of speech.

Instead, the pair of troubled souls sit in silence across from each other, their eyes only meeting every few minutes.

When he finishes and only then, does she push herself onto her feet, offering her hand out to take his bowl. For a moment he stares at her outstretched hand, fighting the instincts drilled into him, before he eventually and carefully, hands her the bowl, a flicker of an appreciative smile passing, almost too fast for Danielle to catch.

Almost.

                              ••••••••••••

"This is you?"

She peels her eyes away from book she found in the cabinet. Bucky stands beside the window, his chin jutted out towards a picture frame on the wall. She raises an eyebrow slightly at his sudden conversation. "It was," she nods after a while. It doesn't feel like her.

His eyes flit over to her body, curled up on the windowsill, noticing her vague answer. But he doesn't pry. His hands stuffed in his pockets, he dips his head, his eyes still lingering on the family photos. A part of him longs for pictures of his own family. Or what used to be his family.

She observes the shift in his mood and with a light sigh, closes her book, tucking it beneath both of her hands. "You should come to the store with me."

The man's head snaps up, a distant fear flashing across his face. She tilts her head, standing up from her spot, pretending not to notice. "It's been a month, Bucky. It'll be good for you to get out."

He swallows, shaking his head. "Not yet," he replies monotonously.

She purses her lips. "Then when?"

He blinks, his familiar guarded expression coming to his face. His gaze drops as he makes his way up the stairs, leaving his housemate standing alone in the kitchen, a disappointment settling in her stomach.

                             •••••••••••

She's a light sleeper, so maybe the words weren't even that loud.

Nevertheless, Danielle Larson makes her way slowly from her bed, her footsteps light on the hard wood as she pads into the hallway. She pauses outside his door. She comprehends a few of his whimpers, "No," "I can't," "Stop."

She chews at her lips, rolling her eyes at herself when she pushes open the door. His body is twisted amongst his covers on the floor. She isn't surprised at his choice to sleep on the floor, she had read about that in a book about PTSD in military soldiers, she had done it herself for a while.

She swallows, her mouth dry. "Bucky," she calls gently. His writhing doesn't cease, his contorted expression of pain sickens her. She steps over toward him. "Bucky, wake up. It's only a dream," she says more confidently. Her lips press into a thin line, her small hand reaching out to gently touch his wrist. "You're safe now."

She resists a flinch when his hand reaches up to grab hers harshly, his eyes snapping open. She clenches her jaw, her brows twisting as she's met with a foreign gaze. And her heart wrenches.

He blinks and he is returned to his own troubled, blue eyes.

His breathing is heavy as he stares at her for a moment.

"You're OK," she assures, seeing his distressed expression.

He jolts upwards, scrambling away from her. He runs his trembling hands through his greasy hair, pulling it away from his flushed face. "Did I hurt you?" He snaps suddenly.

"No," she replies instantly, her gaze hardening with surety.

He blinks, relief flashing across his face. He shakes his head, trying to calm his breathing. He runs his hands over his face. "You need to go."

She tilts her head. "It's not a big deal, Bucky, everyone gets them. You didn't hurt anyone, everything is fine. Just try to breathe."

"You need to leave, Danielle," he snipes quickly, his words more bitter than he had intended.

She bites the inside of her cheek, swallowing the ridiculous hurt that wells up in her chest. Of course he wants to be alone. She inclines her head, attempting to once again convince herself: she doesn't care.

He watches her with a pained expression as she closes the door, his eyes glazing over, his emotions overwhelmed. He's even more confused when he realises how lonely he suddenly feels.

He wants her to come back.

He needs her to come back.

But he doesn't deserve her to.