Ghost of You

t h i r t y - e i g h t

"You're a lot quieter than I remember."

I let my hands fall to my sides, looking up at James Buchanan Barnes Jr. to be met with an appraising pair of blue eyes.

"Something else is different too." He continues, motioning to me. "I just can't put a finger on it."

I'm immediately unsure of how to respond to his declaration. All it does is further remind me of how much has changed since the last time I last saw him. We aren't that close, truthfully, he doesn't know me at all. The fact that he can still see the change in spite of this just goes to show the impact one person, or more specifically the loss of one person, can have on another.

Instead of continuing down this rather depressing train of thought, I switch the topic back to him. He's the one with the explaining to do, beginning with how the hell he ended up in Wakanda in the first place.

"Well you clearly remember who I am and aren't trying to bash my head into a wall so it seems fair to say that you seem different too."

He has the decency to look slightly embarrassed, his cheeks turning a very light and almost indiscernible shade of pink before he clears his throat and shuffles his feet as the confident side of him returns.

"Are you going to make me apologize for that again?"  He asks, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you'd be over that by now."

Despite the sarcasm I can tell he still feels guilty about the whole thing. His eyes seem sad as his arm comes up to scratch the back of his neck. It's the kind of nervous regret that's so pure and so innocent, that not even the greatest of actors could fake their way through it. It makes me feel like this is a completely seperate man from the one that attacked me all those months ago. It makes me feel like I can trust him, or at least his intentions.

"I'll get over it once I get even." I reply with a hint of a smile.

"I don't even want to know what that means." He shakes his head warily, making me laugh.

I can tell he's still trying to read me, to figure out what it is that's different from the last time he saw me. My laugh trickles off slightly as I turn away from him, slightly uncomfortable from the attention.

I bend over and sit on the grass just so I have something to do. It's slightly damp but I don't really mind, running the cool temperature of the blades through my fingers as I stretch back, propping myself up with my arms. When I finally gain the courage to look at him again I can see his arms have crossed and he's giving me a look that says "no way in hell will I be sitting on wet grass."

I pat the spot next to me with my hand, looking up at him expectantly. Then, we have what seems to be some sort of staring contest as I pat the ground for a second time. I smile victoriously when he sighs, shaking his head slightly and leaning over to sit next to me.

"So, I'm sure you've got lots of questions for me." He says, mimicking my position and leaning back on his hands.

I nod back at him because yes, I feel like I have a million questions for him. It's just that they are questions I'm not sure I even want the answers too.

"Shoot." He prompts. "I'm an open book."

"Right." I chuckle, because if he's an open book, than am I magical fairy Princess who can turn into a unicorn on command. If there's anything I've come to learn about him and every other super soldier I've encountered is that they are anything but open books. They are books sealed shut with super glue, wrapped in multiple layers of duct tape, and stored in destinations so remote their conditions have been deemed unfit for human survival.