Haven [Marvel | Bucky Barnes]

Chapter 5

The last thing Iris had expected was for James to show up at her door.

And she certainly hadn't expected him to be holding a bag of what looked like take out or for him to ask her to follow him. But he did and with an intrigued grin she had followed.

That was how she had ended up on the roof of her aunt's house, looking out over the neighbourhood next to James eating a burger that, while perhaps a touch cold, somehow managed to be the best burger she'd had in a long time. Licking the last crumbs of bun and smudge of mayo off her fingers she hazarded a glance at her companion. Long since finished his burgers, he was leaning back on his hands, his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles as he looked out over the urban landscape in front of him. He had that distant look in his eyes again that Iris was starting to think of as his 'trying to remember' look. It was a look that spoke of deep concentration as well as a sense of loss.

The more time she spent with him, the more convinced Iris was becoming that this was a man who was looking for something while trying not to be found at the same time. He'd let it slip that day a few weeks before when they'd shared his pizza that he'd been travelling, even making it as far as Brooklyn, since he'd taken out the apartment he'd rented from her. But whatever it was he was looking to find, she got the impression he hadn't found it yet. Whatever it was, it was bothering him that he hadn't made any sort of progress. Iris might not know him that well, but she could pick up on that easily enough. She crumpled up the wrapper still in the hollow of her crossed legs before stretching out herself, reaching briefly in the direction of her toes to loosen up the tense muscles of her back before relaxing. It was a companionable enough silence between them, the small talk that they'd traded back and forth—mostly about her job or her so far futile search for a new tenant for the basement apartment—as they ate having tapered off several minutes before.

"So what gave you the idea to have a picnic on the roof," she finally asked. It startled him a bit, causing his shoulders to tense before he visibly forced them to ease. He glanced over to her, taking in her interested look. That almost-smile tugged at his lips again, though his eyes were quickly shrouded in memory again. She sat a little straighter. After a long moment he took a deep breath, his voice catching slightly at first as he began to speak, a trace of a smile on his face.

"Growing up, my best friend and I used to do this all the time; climb up onto the roof at night—usually his building since it was easier not to get caught there—and watch the city go by, talking about nothing and everything. Trying to solve the problems of the world the way two teenage boys thought we could or trying to figure out how to talk to girls. Mostly girls," he amended, chuckling a little. Iris watched him with a giggle of her own, fascinated by the way he lit up as he relived those memories. "Even in Brooklyn the city never quite seemed to go to sleep, and the lights from Manhattan in the distance were something else. He was so small—tiny really, a bit of a runt—but he always refused help getting up there.

"We were always there for each other..." His nostalgic look faded into something wretched and pained as he trailed off, the distance in his eyes seeming almost to go in and out of focus as the thoughtful crease between his brows returned. Iris felt her own grin fade as she watched him, finding herself growing sad at the return of his lost look. "...to the end of the line," he murmured, picking up and finishing the thought from a moment before. Iris almost didn't hear him, and likely wouldn't have realized he'd continued had she not watched him say it. It was said so quietly it was more him mouthing the words than speaking them. That last bit meant something to him, the way he said it giving her the odd impression that he'd been repeating the phrase to himself for a while. She leaned forward as she studied him, loosely hugging her knees as she did.

He nearly glanced over at her again when she moved, barely catching himself as he seemed to be debating something, a conflicted expression shuddering briefly across his face. Finally he sighed, drawing his own knees up and resting his forearms loosely over them, his gloved hands clasping lightly in front of him. Iris watched his long fingers lace and flex and tighten, absently wondering why he was always seemed to be wearing gloves.