Hurt // Marvel [2]

6

Bucky follows behind me as I lead the way back to my hotel. I know he still doesn't trust me, he has no reason to. He has been on guard the entire time we've been together. His hands remain in his pockets, his hood on his head. I had already taken notice of his eyes darting around his surroundings, trying to take everything in at once. I can almost feel him watching my every move now, probably waiting to see if I'll end up attacking.

I glance back at him as I open the door into the building. He grabs the door from me once it is in reach and holds it open as I make my way inside. I nod as a thank you but get no response.

"Good morning, Ms. Maximoff." The boy who checked me in the other day, who's name I've learned is Andrei, greats me.

"How many times do I have to correct you? That sounds way too formal for me." I send him a smile.

"Sorry, Lillian." I smile again and tell him to have a nice day as Bucky and I make our way to the stairs down the hall.

"You used your middle name." Bucky's voice is firm and quiet at the same time.

"Yeah." I stop and look back at him. "How did you know that?"

"Hydra files." I look at him for a second as his eyes don't leave mine. I can't come up with anything else to say as I turn around once more and make my way to the second floor.

I take the key from my pocket and open the door. Bucky motions me in first, holding the door once more. I hear the door close behind him as I place the key onto the table beside the bed. I watch as he inspects the room. His eyes linger on the two knives I left sitting on the dresser across from the bed. He silently makes his way over to them and runs his finger across the hilt of one of them.

"Tony engineered those for me. Haven't had time to completely find out everything they do." As Bucky moves throughout the room, I notice his body slightly leaning to the left and can't help but think of the mechanical arm that's under his jacket. He places his backpack on the bed and seems to relax ever so slightly. He doesn't sit as I do on the bed but instead remains standing.

"Should I call you Bucky? James, maybe? Barnes?" He remains silent for a few seconds, long enough to make me question if I should have even asked.

"Any of them." I nod. I'll just have to awkwardly cycle through them since he didn't give me a distinct answer. Hopefully one of us will choose one we like best.

"How'd you know about my Hydra file?" I hadn't even read it yet, but it's sitting in the bottom of my bag across the room.

"It wasn't yours." He continues looking around the room. I only watch as he takes the gloves off his hands and reveals the silver arm. I desperately want to see it, to feel it and ask how it works, but I'm not anywhere near being able to do that.

"Whose, then?" He looks down at me again but doesn't respond. "I was there for a while."

"I know."

"I don't remember ever seeing you."

"You didn't."

"You remember?" He remains still for a second before turning his head away. I shouldn't have said anything. Memory is a sore topic.

"I don't remember most of my time with Hydra."

"Me neither." He runs his right hand across the blanket covering the bed beside me before sitting.

"Why'd you actually come with me?"

"You don't seem very dangerous." His eyes glance around my face once more.

"I could definitely take you, Bucky Barnes." I purse my lips and flex one of my arms to show off my toughness and I notice a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. I almost made him smile.

"How long have you been here?" He shrugs his shoulders. I notice his eyes finally stop wandering as they remain stuck to the carpeted floor instead. "Where are you staying?"

"An apartment."

"Are you still scared that people are going to find you?" My eyes wander back over to Tony's knives on the dresser. "I don't want to be found."

"The worry will go away."

"Yours hasn't." He stands up quickly, causing me to flinch at the sudden movement. I watch him as he picks the backpack up once more. I notice the sun already beginning to set outside my window. We'd been together all day already and yet I'd learned nothing about him.

"I have to go." I watch as he makes his way towards the door.

"Wait," His hand pauses at the door handle. "Will we see each other again?"

"Coffee." He opens the door and takes a step out.

"What time?" The door closes behind him and I'm left all alone once again.

I feel a sort of pull towards the file that I know is sitting in my bag across the room. I want to look at it and find out what's inside. Maybe what happened to my parents, or more about the things I'm capable of doing. Another part of me is saying no. The logical part wants me to ignore it for now, wait until I'm actually ready for it. I don't know if I could ever be ready for what's inside, but I know it's not right now.

So I ignore that curiosity inside me for now and instead walk over to the knives on the dresser. I once again take note of how the hilt fits perfectly into my hand. I flip them both around before catching them again, seeing how they balance. Then I press the button located right under my pointer finger. A covering goes over the blade of the knife, turning it into a baton, similar to the ones Nat has yielded before.

I continue playing around with the buttons, finding many useful tools, most notable is probably the electric shock.

I leave the coverings on the knives as I place them back onto the dresser and take a look around the room. I already have clothes laying all over the only chair in the room and my toiletries are thrown sporadically around the bathroom. The room definitely looks like I've been living in it for a few days, but it by no means looks like my home. I never changed the room at the base to look like a room that was specifically mine either. I had never gone to the tower to gather my belongings, and Tony didn't want to mess with any of it.

My mind wanders back to all my friends. I desperately want to tell Steve that I've found Bucky. That my running away somehow caused me to run into his long-lost best friend. But I know I can't actually tell him. I can't turn my phone on to call him, and I definitely can't go and visit him. Instead, I rip a piece of paper out of the notebook sitting on the desk in the room and write a letter I know I won't send.

Dear Steve,

I'm sorry I left. I know you won't believe me, but I am. This is for the best right now, not only for my own sake, but for yours as well. I know you're tired of trying to make me feel better and needing to take care of me, so it's time I take care of my self. I need time to get my independence back and to take my mind off of things. I know I'll see you again, I just need this time to process everything. Apparently locking yourself in a bedroom doesn't always help everything.

All this, however, has brought some good news. I found Bucky. Don't ask me how it happened because I still don't really understand it. We spent the day together. He seems to be doing okay. At least okay for someone who went through everything he did. I think we might become friends, or at least allies. I need someone here who I can count on, and who better than the best friend of my own best friend?

I think Bucky and I are here for similar reasons. I would never want to compare my situation to his, because they really aren't even comparable, but I think we're both here as an escape. We both need time to collect our thoughts, figure out what's going on. We both have memories we're trying to catch up on, some painful, some good. I just hope we can somehow help each other.

I'll tell you more the next time I see you, but for now I think I'll continue writing these letters, maybe even include a few other people.

Much love,

Riley Medela