Yesterday, Tomorrow, Today

When Rose woke the following morning it was slow and comfortable. Her mind did not immediately fill with dread at having to face the soldier in her living room. Perhaps because it was impossible to be too intimidated by anyone after sharing chocolate cake for dinner. 

Bucky really liked chocolate cake, she’d discovered. He kept eating long after Rose set down her fork. There wasn’t much left on the plate when he was through. But he’d eaten, and that was progress. 

Rose got out of bed and pulled on a simple cotton summer dress, one of her favorites. She had no plans to leave the apartment, but dressing up a bit always helped her feel more human somehow. 

The shades in the living room were still drawn, casting the room in a dim golden glow from the few rays of light that managed to filter through. She immediately looked to the couch, expecting to see Bucky. But the couch was empty. The pillow and blanket were still sitting neatly on one of the cushions. Just like the night before. Which meant—rose focused on the shadowy corner between the couch and the wall. And there he was. 

Bucky slept sitting upright in the living room corner, his knees pulled up close to his chest. He was wearing the pajamas that she’d given him yesterday after the shower, which was an improvement from the tactical gear, but her heart still ached for him. 

Baby steps, she reminded herself. One little step at a time.

Rose tiptoed to the couch and grabbed the blanket. Unfurling it quietly, she laid it over Bucky and tiptoed away. Thankfully, he didn’t wake. Spooking a traumatized soldier out of sleep was not smart. She’d learned that the hard way a couple years ago. 

In the kitchen Rose set about making her morning tea. Her mind flashed to the previous morning—namely her sobbing into a bag of coffee—but she pushed the memory aside. There would not be a repeat of that today. 

Rose rustled around the kitchen, preparing her tea and making a grilled cheese because there were no rules when it came to what foods could be eaten at what hours. That was a lesson her old nanny taught her, one that she’d held onto despite her parents’ efforts to knock the idea out of her head. 

“Food should be enjoyed whenever you feel the desire for it,” Rose mumbled her nanny’s words into the quiet air of the kitchen. 

She flipped the grilled cheese over in the pan and glanced up into the living room. Bucky’s dark figure was still huddled in the corner, sleeping. Regardless, Rose put on a second grilled cheese once the first was sufficiently crispy. 

The pan sizzled quietly and Rose sipped her tea, leaning against the counter as she waited for her breakfast to cool. It was the rustle of fabric, so quiet compared to the sizzling pan, that alerted her to Bucky’s presence. She turned slowly, knowing he’d be behind her and not wanting to startle him. 

Bucky stood barefoot at the edge of her kitchen, looking sleep-rumbled but no less alert than usual. 

“Good morning,” Rose said, setting her tea down. “Hungry?” 

His eyes flitted from her, to the pan, and back. Rose smiled and grabbed the cooled grilled cheese. 

“Here.” She slid the plate to him. “I can wait for the next one.” 

Again, his eyes bounced from her, to the plate, and back. 

“It’s safe. You’re safe here Bucky. I won’t hurt you.” 

It took a long moment, but Bucky picked up the grilled cheese and took a tentative bite. He chewed slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Rose all the while. She held his eye. And she saw the moment when it clicked in his mind that grilled cheese, even one offered by a stranger, was delicious. 

Bucky scarfed down the rest of the sandwich. When it was gone he stared at his own greasy fingers as if wondering what to do with them. 

“So you like grilled cheese, huh?” she said, sliding her own breakfast out of the pan. 

Bucky’s eyes darted to the second plate. Rose smiled and pushed it over to him as well. He watched her for a moment, as if waiting for something. When she didn’t move to snatch the plate back, Bucky eagerly grabbed the second grilled cheese. 

“I’m gonna have to do a lot more grocery shopping with your around,” she mused. 

Bucky blinked at her, having already scarfed down his second helping, despite it being fresh out of the pan. 

“Do you want another?” she asked, already pulling out more bread. 

Bucky nodded. 

Progress. 

Rose smiled. “Coming right up.” 

The rest of the day passed in much the same fashion. After making five grilled cheeses—of which Rose ate one—she cleaned up in the kitchen while sipping on a second cup of tea, and Bucky watched. She’d offered him a sip of her tea, which he accepted, and which promptly twisted his face into a disgusted grimace. He’d swallowed the mouthful and shoved the cup back towards her. Rose was so startled by the suddenly not-blank expression that it took her a moment to snap out of her stupor. And when she did, Rose laughed so long and loud that her side began to cramp. 

When she finally came to herself and wiped the tears from her eyes, she remarked through the final dying giggles, “I guess I’ll have to buy coffee then.” 

Bucky was getting much better at controlling his reactions. At lunch time, when Rose pulled a large knife from the block to chop vegetables, she suddenly found herself in a headlock, with a metal arm around her neck and the knife on the ground. It took several gentle rounds of “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” before he released her. And even then he wouldn’t let her pick up the big knife. 

Rose ended up using a paring knife for the vegetables. It was cumbersome and inefficient and Bucky still stared her down like he expected her to lash out, but at least he didn’t put her in a headlock again. When it came time for dinner, Rose made sure to explain that she would be cooking and what exactly she needed to use the big knife for. There weren’t any incidents at dinner. They were both learning. 

Rose spent the weekend catching up on work she’d missed on Friday. Of course she couldn’t do any restoration in the apartment, but she took the opportunity to finally clear out her inbox. The rest of her time was spent on the couch—with Bucky on the floor despite her trying to coax him into the armchair—watching reruns of How It’s Made. 

She’d deliberated over her choice of programming for a long time. Anything too violent, like action movies or crime shows, might trigger him. Something too cheery, like romantic and buddy comedies, might trigger a depressive episode. So Rose settled on informative television that didn’t offer too much of any emotion. 

As it turns out, Bucky was fascinated with the mechanisms of everyday objects. He seemed particularly enthralled with the segments on record machines and motorcycles. 

When Monday rolled around Rose had to make the decision between leaving Bucky alone while she went to work or bringing him with her. She worried over the terrible possibilities that came with both options as she made the bed and put on a baby blue sundress. But when she walked into the living room, pulling a cream cardigan over her shoulders, Rose saw that the decision has been made for her. 

Bucky stood waiting for her. The black jeans, which she’d spent too long deliberating the size of, fit perfectly, hugging his thighs in a way that really shouldn’t be allowed. And the combination of a red long-sleeve henley and leather jacket thrown so casually over his shoulders screamed Calvin Klein model. Even his hair was clean and looked remarkably soft beneath the baseball cap he wore. 

“Good morning,” Rose said, hating how breathy her voice came out. 

Bucky nodded once. She noticed then that his hat was one that she’d kept deep in a box at the back of the hallway closet. When he’d had time to dig through the closet, she wasn’t sure. 

“I have to go to work today,” she continued, clearing her throat. “Would you like to come with me?” 

Another nod. 

“Okay…have you eaten yet?” 

Bucky shook his head. 

“Me neither. Guess we should start with that,” she chuckled in an attempt to break the tension that she very well could be hallucinating. 

Bucky seemed about as relaxed as he ever got, which was to say he was tense but didn’t have the cold glint in his eye that spelled trouble. 

The two of them looked at each other, neither one moving towards the kitchen. Finally, when Bucky’s eyes slid from her face to the thin cardigan straps that crisscrossed and tied at her waist. Rose broke away from their staring contest. 

She bustled around the kitchen making tea for herself and peanut butter sandwiches for the both of them. 

Bucky stood on the other side of the counter and watched as she moved in the little space. She was meticulous in preparing her tea—first a strainer filled with leaves, then sugar, then hot water. But everything else seemed scattered. She’d put peanut butter on one piece of bread before running off to grab her tote bag from beside the door. Then she’d come back to slather jam on the other piece of bread. Then she put away every ingredient and dug out the mountain of tupperware meals she’d prepared the day before. Once those were stuffed in her bag, the two slices of bread were slapped together and she bit into her sandwich, sliding the other three over to him. 

Her process was inefficient, but the sandwiches were good. 

“Okay, c’mon,” she said once all their breakfast was eaten and the plates were drying on the dish rack. 

Rosemary hiked the tote bag over her shoulder and started for the door, with jingling keys in hand. On the other side of the door she wiggled the apartment key in the lock until it clicked shut. She tested the knob and then headed down the stairs, Bucky trailing after her. 

Out on the street Bucky was hit square in the face by all the noise Rosemary’s apartment walls blocked out. Horns honking, people chattering, dogs barking—the city was already alive early on a Monday morning. The noises all swirled together in his brain. Bucky stumbled, catching himself on a metal fence. 

Pain pounded a the base of his skull and down his spine. A ringing started up in his ears as his vision narrowed to just his hands, encased in leather gloves, clutching the fence posts. Dimly, he identified one noise above the rest. 

“—Bucky. It’s okay. Take a minute, we don’t have to rush anywhere.” A hand touched his back. Even through all the layers, it burned. “We can go back inside if you want. I’ll put on the TV for you—”

“No,” he said through clenched teeth. 

This wasn’t him. The mission came above everything. 

The noise of the city snapped back into his awareness all at once, and with it came a cold clarity. There was no mission. He had no objective. The metal fence groaned under his fingers as the hand on his back rubbed small circles. 

Rosemary had a mission, he realized. Go to work. That was her objective in getting out of bed this morning. He’d known that. He’d gotten dressed because of that. Bucky looked down at the clothes she’d bought for him. They fit well. 

She’d fed him—with real food instead of supplements pumped through a tube into his stomach—and let him eat until he was full. She’d even showered him—a real shower with knobs and soap and hot water, not just cold water splashed over him from a bucket. 

Rosemary was taking care of him. That was her second objective. Bucky drew a breath and snapped on a blank face. When he released the fence from his grip it was bent, with divots where his fingers had been. 

“Feeling better?” Rosemary looked up at him with concern painted across her face. Her hand still rested on his back. 

He nodded. 

“Do you wanna go back upstairs?” 

He shook his head. 

“Then…you’ll come with me to work?” 

Another nod. Her hand slid off his back but when Bucky glanced down she was holding it out to him. 

“Just squeeze my hand if you need to pause and take a break.” 

Bucky stared at the offered hand, decorated with delicate silver rings and light pink nail polish. Those fingers wiggled, inviting him to take hold. 

Bucky slid his right hand into hers. Her fingers wrapped around the back of his palm and squeezed gently. 

“Just like that and I’ll know that we need to take a minute,” she said.  

He squeezed her hand in his. It was warm and soft. He could break it so easily. 

Rosemary beamed up at him. “Exactly like that. Do you feel ready to keep going?” 

Bucky observed her for a moment. All her attention was on him, the person passing behind her and the dog barking across the street might as well have not existed. He nodded. 

“Okay, let’s do this.” Rosemary tugged on his hand. 

He trailed a half-step behind her, eyes darting from the busy street to the back of her head, to the warm hand wrapped around his. 

If Rosemary’s mission was to take care of him, then it was his mission to figure out why.