Chapter Text
It never seemed to matter what house it was, the front door was always a problem. The lock constantly needed extra effort to get open, or the hinges were forever in need of oiling. He'd had his face slammed in by a few in his younger years, and done his fair share of throwing them shut due to his temper. It was the same with the first home he could remember living in, and it was the same as the 'home' he had for now. It was always the damned door.
Finally getting the door open with a less-than-gentle nudge of his left shoulder, Bucky stumbled through with his arms full of groceries. He kicked the door shut behind him before dumping the bags on the dining table and shaking out the stiffness in his arms. Or at least, the stiffness in one of his arms.
He used to be good at staying in one position for long periods without backlash. A sniper had to be. The reminder of lying in the mud in the rain with a rifle was bittersweet - another memory to scribble in the notebook residing in the nearby drawer. He seemed to be having more frequent negative memories than positive ones lately. Too much time to think. Too much time to remember.
The sound of the door slamming open into the wall snapped him out of his thoughts. He spun, fists raised to the oncoming attack. He expected soldiers, HYDRA operatives, or maybe the guy who liked to parade around wrapped in the American Flag with an oversized frisbee. But instead, a mess of brunette hair breezed by into the apartment, and Bucky paused in confusion. The figure ran straight past him without engaging and instead ducked behind a set of drawers, crouching down to hide.
The figure appeared not to have even noticed him on her way in - a girl, maybe nineteen or twenty judging by height, dressed in jeans, knee boots and a buttoned-up winter jacket, a black backpack at her feet. Not a soldier and not the blond guy. How did she even get in?
Bucky realised he hadn't locked the door when putting down his groceries. Stupid. Too much thinking.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his mind finally registering a stranger in his apartment. They weren't dressed like a soldier or that blond, but that didn't clear them from threat. His fists stayed up.
"Shh!"
Bucky furrowed his brow, especially when it clicked that she'd yelled in English and not the local language.
"Please, mister. If someone knocks on the door, don't tell them I'm here," she pleaded, tucking herself as far behind the drawers as possible.
Not a moment later, someone was rapping on his door, hurried and impatient. His eyes flicked between the door and the girl huddled on the floor, wide-eyed and staring up at him with fear. But it wasn't a fear of him, it was a fear of whatever was on the other side of that door. That was... uncommon. Usually, he was the threat to be protected from.
The knock came again with the same impatience. Bucky was still looking at the girl who had screwed her eyes shut, staying silent. With one more second to consider it, Bucky calmly approached the door and opened it.
"Good afternoon," he greeted the man standing there looking a little less than pissed off.
"Afternoon. I'm looking for a thief who ran this way. Young girl, brown hair. Seen her?" The stranger questioned, the distinct smell of cigarettes and meat on his breath. Bucky's attention was caught by the knife on his belt, half-hidden by his jacket. Then he looked up and saw a similar man at the opposite end of the corridor talking to his neighbour, an old woman in her mid-fifties with a face like she smelt something burning.
Bucky knew these kinds of men. They weren't interested in handing the girl over to the authorities. No. In a lawless city like this, he knew what kinds of things would happen to her if he handed her over. He didn't want to be responsible for harbouring whoever she was, but he knew to hand her over to this man and his friends would be a hell of a lot worse.
He made his choice.
"No."
"You're sure? She has been stealing from stalls in the market," the stranger asked, eyes narrowing.
"Yes."
The stranger looked dissatisfied, muttering to himself and shifting on the spot before speaking again. "It can be worth your while if you have any information about her." He attempted a smile and a hinting wink.
"I said no," he reaffirmed, keeping his body language relaxed and unchallenging.
The man stared at him, and Bucky knew he was doubtful, but he maintained eye contact.
The stranger blinked first. "I'll be on my way, then." He slunk away to the opposite side of the corridor to join his friend. The friend shook their head, and the two ascended the stairs to the next floor.
Bucky closed the door, making sure to lock it this time, and considered his next move.
"Is he gone?" The voice of the girl behind him was quiet, nervous, and Bucky turned around to see her peeking out from behind the drawers like a startled rabbit.
"For now," he answered in English.
She nodded minutely, crawling out from her hiding space and standing to full height. Her navy jacket reached her knees, and the bag she carried hung off one shoulder.
"So, who the hell are you?" he repeated his earlier question, this time in a language she understood.
"Uh... going?" she replied with a weak smile, taking a step towards the door.
Bucky narrowed his eyes at her shoulder. "You're bleeding."
There was a dark damp patch beside a rip in her coat he hadn't seen before. A few rips, actually. They didn't look accidental, like those that come with age and wear, but instead like someone had made a good effort with a blade.
"Yeah. But it's fine." She rubbed her hand over the area, hiding a wince.
"It will get infected."
"I'll deal with it." She shook him off with a shrug.
Bucky was silent. The cut must've been recent, no doubt a result of the blade he'd seen on the man's belt. He felt more confident in his decision to lie to them.
"I'm just gonna go now." She started moving towards the door again.
He let her reach the door before saying "They'll be searching the building and waiting for you. He didn't believe me."
She hesitated, her hand on the lock.
"You should wait. An hour should be safe." He moved away from the door to return to unpacking his groceries, keeping his side facing her just in case this really was a trap. If it wasn't, those men on the stairs would be waiting for her to show her face. He didn't know how many there were, but he had a hunch there were more.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," she insisted.
Bucky could hear her thought process, uncomfortable with staying with a stranger even if he had just saved her from trouble. He could be a million times worse for all she knew. And he couldn't blame her. He was a million times worse. But he at least knew how to recognise the differences between a victim and a villain, and looking at her and the subtle face and body signals she was giving off, he was leaning more towards victim.
"You should at least tend to that." Bucky gestured to her shoulder.
"And I will. Later."
"Now. The longer you wait, the higher the risk of infection." Bucky's voice was laced with command, the kind of tone he would use back in training when he would bark orders at his team. The girl flinched at it. He didn't like that. He didn't want her to be scared, or more scared, but he didn't know what he did want her to feel either. "Bathroom is through there," he offered in a softer tone. There was no point in her being stubborn over a cut.
It seemed to work because the girl began shuffling towards the bathroom door. "Thanks."
Bucky shook his head, unloading things from the bags and sliding them into their proper places.
What was he doing? He didn't know who this girl was, and he was letting her stroll around his apartment? And use the bathroom? Granted, there was nothing in there that would be of interest to her. It wasn't like he had been here long. The place was bare bones and anyone would believe there was no electricity if not for the floor lamp in the bedroom. The windows above the sink and balcony were taped up with newspaper.
The bathroom door reopened and the brunette appeared again, coat folded over one arm and her shirt sleeve now wet with water. Bucky gave her a nod and she nodded back. Then, "Thank you. For what you did. Not a lot of people would have lied."
"You're not from around here," Bucky replied.
"Yeah..."
"You talked to me in English rather than the local language first," he clarified.
Understanding flashed in her eyes and she gave a nod. "You're not around from here either by the sound of your accent. Brooklyn area?" she guessed.
He didn't reply, just continued to keep his hands busy by putting things away, keeping his metal side hidden.
She shuffled in place with a nod. "Okay then."
Bucky finished unpacking, tossing the paper bags in the trash before looking at her. "Why were they chasing you?" He had to know.
"He told you, didn't he?" She shrugged, folding her arms over herself.
Bucky stared at her.
She shifted uncomfortably under his eyes. "I was hungry at the market so I tried stealing some food. I got seen, chased, and then stumbled into your apartment because you left your door unlocked. You shouldn't do that here. Bad neighbourhood."
Bucky didn't respond with much more than an acknowledging hum. So she was a thief. And then another sound rang out in the silence of the apartment, a quiet rumbling that was nearly missed.
"Sorry." The brunette folded her arms over her stomach, head dropping down to stare at her boots.
Bucky realised it had been her, and it was her stomach that had rumbled hungrily. "You said you stole food."
"Yeah, but I dropped it when they started chasing me." Her stomach rumbled again. "Shut up..." she hissed at herself under her breath, turning away and looking to the door.
Bucky studied her, eyes flicking up and down her figure before making a decision and pulled out a chair from under the table, nodding to it. "Sit here."
It was a long hesitant minute before she chanced shuffling closer to him while he walked to a nearby cupboard. Soon, she was in the seat, arms still folded over herself with her jacket tucked on her lap. When Bucky turned around, she gave him a nervous but polite smile and he set down a punnet of cherries in front of her.
"No. Thank you." She shook her head with a mumble. "I don't want to eat your food. I'm already here as an unconventional guest, you don't need to--"
The girl quietened as Bucky levelled her with a glare. He tried to keep it calm, not exactly scary but holding an air of warning that she should probably shut up and listen. It had worked the first time.
Her hand gently reached out, eyes flicking up as if he would yank it away in a cruel jest, before picking out a single cherry and beginning to nibble on it. "Thank you," she mumbled.
Bucky nodded, satisfied, and kept her in his peripherals while he pretended not to watch. She could still try something.
"What should I call you, mister?"
"Don't," he grunted back.
"Don't. Is that a first name or a last name, Mister Don't?" She attempted to smile and joke. Bucky didn't reciprocate. She dropped her smile and gaze to the floor, fingers fiddling with a cherry stem. "Not a big fan of small talk then? That's okay."
Bucky felt calmer when she got the hint. But he couldn't help but feel slightly bad that she looked so put out with his blunt disregard for her trying to be friendly.
"What do I call you, then?" he asked her.
She looked up at him, opened her mouth but hesitated. He waited. She sighed and slumped in her seat. "I don't like my name," she admitted quietly, picking out another cherry from the punnet. "Can you pick one for me? Call me whatever you want. Except for bad names because that's mean."
Bucky hid his surprise. She wanted him to try and pick something like that? She'd barely known him ten minutes.
The girl reached for her backpack and unzipped it. Bucky tensed, hand edging to the nearby cutlery drawer, but felt a little foolish when she only pulled out a book, oblivious to his internal panic. The cover had a black and red design swirling over it, and he recognised the title from the few fairytales he'd been told as a child.
Little Red Riding Hood.
From what he remembered of the story, it was a small child wandering through the forest who met a wolf who pretended to be her friend and eventually tricked her and ate her. His skin itched as his mind helpfully supplied the comparison to his current situation with the brunette as Little Red and himself in place of the wolf. He screwed his eyes shut, pushing the thoughts away. This wasn't like that. He was trying to help. He opened his eyes again and the girl was still sitting unaware, flicking the next page over.
The hour passed stiffly. Bucky almost started to feel self-conscious about the apartment, and his hands itched to start clearing things away that covered the counter. Not that much covered the counters, just a few old newspapers and used mugs he hadn't gotten around to cleaning yet. And she may have looked carefree and lost deep into her story but Bucky didn't miss the quick glances up at him every so often as she checked he wasn't doing anything sinister. He was doing the same thing, making himself look busy wiping the counters.
Eventually, it had been an hour. "It should be safe now," Bucky announced out loud, then had to repeat himself louder when the girl didn't break from her reading trance, head snapping up suddenly and blinking at him as she registered the words. She cleared her throat, standing up from the chair and tucking it back under the table neatly.
"Thank you, Mister Don't." She gave an awkward bow before throwing her coat back on, picking up her backpack and heading to the door with quick steps. "Bye," she said with a final nod before disappearing out of the door.
Bucky walked over and locked it behind her, listening to her footsteps fading away before disappearing completely. He waited for a minute for soldiers and agents to storm the place, but nothing happened, and he let out a long breath.
Turning back to the table to grab the empty punnet of cherries to throw away, he saw something else on the table.
Her book.
Shit. She'd forgotten it.
He took careful steps over to the item before picking up the book to examine it. The pages were well worn, the upper corners bent from frequent reading. The cover was crinkled and the spine was in a poor state, but it looked overall treated well for something that seemed to be years old. There were no library dates in the front so she did own it. Or perhaps she stole it. It wasn't an impossible thought considering what she knew about her from their meeting, though the text was in English.
She'd probably want it back. Did she really leave it on accident? Or was he being lured outside by a girl he didn't know the name of to give her back something she'd left in his apartment when hiding from other people?
Screw it. He squeezed his jacket pocket to check his blade was still there. Holding the book in one hand and grabbing his keys, he headed for the door to chase the girl down and return the story.