Spirit in the House

Chapter 5

Bucky parked in front of the police precinct and leaned his elbows against the steering wheel, staring at the entrance door of the police station. You were not sure why, but you felt connected to him.

"I haven't been there in over a year," he said without taking his eyes off the door.

"You don't have to do this. I mean, I appreciate that you want to help me, but I don't want to force you-"

"You're not forcing me." He turned to the passenger seat. "I want to help you, but it's... complicated."

You wanted to comfort him, but you couldn't even squeeze his hand. The lack of physical contact was starting to drive you crazy. It wasn't like you craved it when you were alive, but it felt as if you had been robbed of your free will.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky opened the door and climbed out of the car. With a confident strut, he walked to the door and opened it. The familiar noises and smells of the precinct greeted him, it was almost too much. Bucky looked at you and swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying to stay strong.

"Are you sure we're not trespassing?" you whispered, following him closely.

"I work here and you're-" He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. "You're not really here."

"Oh, yeah, sorry." You shook your head. "So you're a cop." Bucky made a noise of agreement, careful not to draw attention to himself. "Why are you always at home?"

"Sick leave," he replied without moving his lips. "It's-"

"Complicated," you finished for him, ending with a sigh.

The precinct was like a giant maze, you stayed close to Bucky and looked at the faces of the people walking past –or sometimes through- you.

"Barnes?" a man shouted.

Bucky's body suddenly tensed up. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly turned around to face the man. He had a gap between his front teeth, a neatly trimmed goatee, and dark brown eyes.

"Hey, Wilson. How are you, man?" Bucky asked with fake glee as they shared an awkward handshake.

"I didn't know you were back. They put me with Barton since you left. To be honest, he's driving me crazy," Sam said, offering a tentative smile. "So, you're doing better? I don't think I've seen you since... well since the funeral."

You turned all your attention to Bucky who cleared his throat and shuffled his feet a bit. He raised his hand and rubbed it across his forehead.

"Yeah, it's been a while. I'll see ya around," Bucky quickly ended the conversation.

Sam watched him leave with a confused look on his face, unaware that you were standing in front of him. You were not sure what just happened, but one thing was certain: Bucky had a troubled past.

Leaving Sam in the middle of the corridor, you trailed after Bucky. The door was closed so you walked through it, feeling a bit like a superhero.

Bucky was hunched over an open drawer, thumbing through files. He pulled out one that had your name on it. He smiled, waving the file above his head.

"It doesn't look like an office," you said, looking around.

"It's the records room."

Bucky walked to the desk and pulled out a chair for you. You sat down next to him and stayed quiet while he skimmed through your file. He could feel your eyes burning holes in his head.

"Stop staring at me." He mumbled without looking up from the file.

"Whose funeral was it?" you blurted out.