Love-in-a-Mist
"What?” she gasped, not daring to move.
“The man on the bridge…he knew me.”
Rose didn’t want to pretend like she knew who ‘the man on the bridge’ was, but she didn’t want to set him off with a stupid question either. She licked her dry lips.
“Did…did you know him?”
Bucky’s eyes—sad and scared—met hers. “I don’t know.”
Rose nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she whispered into the dark between them. “I think I know a little of what that’s like.”
He stared at her with that same gut-wrenching expression for a long time after that. His metal hand still rested around her throat. Rose supposed it was up to her to break the tension.
“You hungry?”
He blinked at her. Some of the fear left his face. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the staring.
“Let’s have breakfast.” Rose shuffled sideways a bit, out of reach but still in sight. “Do you like waffles? What am I even saying—” Rose reached up and turned on the little light above the stove “—everybody likes waffles.”
Under Bucky’s watchful eye Rose pulled open the fridge and paused. The chocolate cake was much smaller than she remembered it being. Rose blinked, grabbed the oat milk and a tub of strawberries, and shut the fridge door. At least he’d eaten something. She shuffled around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and utensils and ignoring the dull ache surrounding her throat.
“Maybe you could cut the fruit?” she asked him.
He stared at her, still hovering in the same spot.
Rose blinked at him. “Or I could do it…yeah I’ll do it.”
And she did. Rose cut the strawberries, mixed the batter, and heated the waffle iron, all under Bucky’s heavy gaze. He didn’t move a muscle the entire time Rose moved about the kitchen. He completely ignored the perfectly good bar stools, no matter how many times Rose asked if he wanted to sit down. And he never took his eyes off her. It’s like he was waiting for Rose to throw a frying pan at him or something.
It was unsettling at first, the staring. But after a while Rose became absorbed in her cooking, the shiver down her spine subsided, and Bucky was just a steady presence hovering at the edge of her awareness.
Rose pulled a cooked waffle out of the iron. A feeling of déjà vu hit her in the gut and as she plopped the waffle down on a plate. She’d missed this, she realized with a sickening twist of her gut. Rose had missed having someone to cook for, someone who hovered, someone to just be there with her, sharing space on a quiet morning.
Rose sniffled and spooned diced strawberries over the large waffle. She slid the plate and a bottle of maple syrup over to Bucky without meeting his eye and went back to pour more batter into the waffle iron.
As Rose and Bucky’s first breakfast together came to a close, one thing became clear: they were woefully in need of supplies. Rose hadn’t been grocery shopping since before the Triskelion disaster, and they couldn’t survive on chocolate cake and waffles. And, of course, there was the small fact that Bucky had no other clothes. Granted, he hadn’t made any indication that he was uncomfortable in the leather biker getup, but Rose figured that he’d need at least one change of clothes so he’d have something fresh to change into after he showered.
And she was determined to have him shower. She could only hold her breath for so long.
Convincing Bucky to stay in the apartment while Rose went out to run some errands was simpler than she’d imagined. He hadn’t really reacted when she’d told him she was leaving for a while. He just stared, tracking her with an eagle eye as she snatched up her tote bag from the hook by the door and ran out of the apartment.
Rose wandered through the department store, hoping to eventually end up in the men’s department. She wasn’t having much luck yet. She’d never needed to shop for men’s clothing before and she hardly knew where to begin.
Her hip twinged horribly with every other step. In her haste to leave the apartment she’d taken the stairs two at a time, which had ended in her falling very disgracefully and slamming her hip into the cement steps. That would bruise for sure. Her only saving grace was that no one had been around to witness it.
Rose turned a corner and nearly ran into a mannequin. At least she was finally in the right place.
She entered the racks, moving immediately past the collared shirts and suit jackets—she figured Bucky wouldn’t have too many formal occasions to attend, seeing as he was technically dead and all.
For some odd reason the formal aisle led into the pajama section, which was actually fortuitous. Bucky would definitely need some new clothes to sleep in. The leather getup couldn’t be very comfortable.
Rose skimmed her fingers across the various shades and styles of pajama pants that lined the shelves. She had no clue what she was looking for, but her fingers paused on one of the softer materials. She pulled a pair of cotton pants off the shelf. The pant legs unraveled and cascaded down towards the ground. Rose held the pants up for scrutiny. They were soft and lightweight enough to wear even on summer evenings. And they were a perfectly acceptable deep blue color. The only trouble was that Rose realized now, holding the trousers up by the waist, that she had no idea what Bucky’s size was.
“May I help you, miss?”
Rose startled at the voice on her left. She whirled to see a young man with a name tag looking at her expectantly.
“Oh um, I’m just looking for some clothes for my…boyfriend—” she chocked on the word. “—but I completely forgot to check what sizes he wears.”
The man, Marcus, smiled. “Happens more often than you’d think. Can I be of any help?”
“Well…” Rose eyed him up and down. “Actually yes. He might be around your size? He’s a bit taller—” Bucky was at least half a foot taller. “And really muscly. Not like scary bodybuilder muscle, more like…lumberjack?” She prayed that the vague description of a man who was supposedly her boyfriend made sense.
Marcus laughed. “Alright, well we can work with that. What kind of clothes were you looking to buy for him?”
“Um, casual, I think. He doesn’t dress up much. And house wear—pajamas, underwear, the works.” Rose caught the way Marcus’ eyes flitted up and down her flowy dress when she remarked on her ‘boyfriend’ not dressing up much.
She didn’t miss the subtle dropping of his smile. It sparked a new fear that she was unjustly painting Bucky as a bad boyfriend. Of course, she had no idea what Bucky would be like as a boyfriend.
Her cheeks flushed as her mind interjected with a few choice visuals. She shoved the mental images aside, allowing guilt to wash them away. It wasn’t right to picture such things of a man in a vulnerable mental state.
“Well, since we’re in the sleepwear, let’s start here,” Marcus said. “May I?” He pulled the pants from her hands and held them up to his hips. “These would be too small for me, so definitely too small for your boyfriend. Let’s try a couple sizes up.”
He quickly folded the pair in his hands and retrieved another set in the same color, again holding them up to his waist.
“These are a bit big for me, think they’ll fit?” he said.
Rose looked at the pants and then at Marcus, who very clearly went to a gym regularly. But even so, he was no Bucky. And Rose had an artist’s eye, so she could gauge proportions fairly well, even from memory.
She shook her head. “No, they’ll be too small I think. Maybe another size up?”
Marcus nodded, folded the pajamas, and pulled another size. It took a few more tries and some deliberating between sizes, but finally Rose settled on one that might even be a bit big on Bucky. She figured it would be better to have baggy clothing than stuff that was skin-tight and uncomfortable—he had that already with his leather getup.
With the pant size determined, she chose a few more colors in the same type of fabric before she and Marcus moved on to the shirts. They went through the same song and dance for each new type of item.
Rose had never been so exhausted after shopping. Then again, she’d never had to think about it quite so hard. After three hours she had a cart laden with shirts (both long and short sleeved), pants (pajamas, jeans, and trousers), jackets (one denim, one leather), and underwear. The internal turmoil of deciding for a man whether he should have boxers or briefs nearly gave Rose a panic attack. She’d settled for boxer briefs.
“Thank you so much Marcus, you’ve been amazing.” Rose said with genuine gratitude as he pushed her cart to the registers.
“Any time, Miss Rose.”
He rang up her items and and Rose tried not to faint at the price. Who knew shopping for a man could be so expensive. But still, she swiped her card and accepted the bags from Marcus while a CVS-length receipt printed from the machine. Marcus tore it from the printer and tucked it into the last bag. Rose caught a glimpse of another paper slipping in alongside the receipt.
“Your receipt is in the bag and I’ve included my card as well. Please call if you have any more shopping needs. I’d be happy to help.” He smiled.
“Oh, thank you!” Rose accepted the last bag from him. “I’ll do that.” She left the store exhausted and much poorer, but feeling accomplished, with five large bags in tow.