This was probably the last thing you expected. Knuckles rapping on the other side of a door so hollow and broken it opened with one gentle swinging breeze. You hide in the shadows, silent, deadly. That was always your style. The face that greets you is one that jogs so many fractured memories, it’s almost painful. Almost. Tall, broad shoulders, the same face from your childhood--from the smithsonian. He’s reaching for his shield, and you watch as he makes his way into your home.
The windows are covered with newspapers, in an effort to keep prying eyes and sunlight out. You tense as you watch him, walking through your gritty little home. How pathetic; living like a rat. You remind yourself; you’re no better than a rat. You’re a trained dog. A trained attack dog. You’re no better. Soon, he speaks; “I do hope I'm not intruding on anybody's personal space. I was only lead here."
Sarcasm. You smile, just a little.
"Sure did come a long ways away to mill around a door, guy..." Your voice is purposefully soft. Not quite the gregarious Bucky from memory. You’re a ghost, and you sound the part. You pocket your hands, and feel for your knife.
“I was hoping to be greeted by the gentleman I came for.” He’s less defensive, and you draw nearer, bionic arm crossed over your chest. Eyes up. Deep breath.
“And what’s a guy like that doing in a place like this.” You walk closer, footsteps even. Teeth worrying at your lower lip; a bad habit you’d picked up behind a sniper rifle. Along with smoking, “Did you bring your friends.”
He chuckles. You almost smile. It sounds so easy. “I came alone. I figured you’d like it that way. But in case you wanted my pals to join, I have good ol’ ham sandwich if you want it.”
“I’ll be alright without the hams, thanks,” you laugh in response. It sounds dry, a little mechanical. Like you haven’t done it in a long time. “What are you doing here, Jake...”
“Well, it’s also turkey. My husband made it with love.” He pauses.
“I’m here for you, Buck.”
You start to understand.
You take a rough breath and swallow, a little tense. “And you didn’t bring any back-up? Not a bright idea, Jake.” You draw a gun from your back pocket and offer it to him, muzzle end pointed towards yourself. “...It’s easier.”
He seems confused, and now you’re confused. He sets it down, and leans against the counter, “I trust you, Buck.” It’s not about trust. “I don’t believe you’ll hurt me unless I hurt you. I don’t need back-up.” You’re even more confused than you were before.
“...So you’re not here to take me out?”
“Well I am here to take you out. Out of this homey little place.” Rude. “Preferably for coffee? I’ve been in a coffee mood lately! The caffeine does nothing for me, but I feel absolutely elated while drinking it.”
Coffee sounds alright. “Coffee sounds alright...” You take a deep breath and look around. “How did you find me?”
“Got a letter...told me to come here. To come for you.”
“Means it’s not safe here.” You run your fingers through your hair and take a slow breath, watching a wall. “Look, Jake...I don’t do--I’m not the same person as the last time we ‘Met’.” You put finger-quotes around met. You’re trying to be better. You really are.
“Look, Kurloz.” You smile as he mirrors your mannerisms. You smile and your lip splits.
It hurts. But in a good way. Kind of.
“If it’s not safe here, you can come with me. You can come with me back to the tower...If you still need help, the tower has a great medical facility. We can help you if you need it, Buck.” He’s persuasive, but you don’t really need persuading. “I can’t play this game of catch-and-release. I’ve caught you again, and I don’t want to lose you a third time.”
You’ve gone from a wide smile, to a thin, hard line as you listen to him. Your eyes fill with tears as you walk across the room and hug your old pal tightly. You want to be safe. You want to be safer than you are, but you’re so scared. “Are you sure it’s going to be alright?”
You think you might hear tears in his voice. “Well, as long as you’re okay with Dirk poking and prodding at your arm sometimes...”
“That’s fine.” Honestly, the arm could use some work.
“I’’m sure he’d be happy to give it a few upgrades and doodads...Let’s get you Home, Buck.”
Your heart swells. Home. Where was home? Looking at Jake, you start to remember. “...Let’s go, pal.”
